THE 

EVERLASTING 

MERCY 

MASEFIELD 


HaleW 


/ 


J7 


THE   EVERLASTING  MERCY 

AND 

THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

HEW  YORK  •    BOSTON  •   CHICAGO 
DALLAS  •   SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •   CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 


AND 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 


BY 

JOHN  MASEFIELD 

AUTHOR   OF    "THE   TRAGEDY   OF   NAN,"    "THE 


NEW  BEVISED   EDITION 


tfefg  gorfc 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1919 

All  rights  ret/erred 


Coroti«rr,  1911, 
Br  JOHN  MA8EFIELD. 

Copyright,  1912, 
By  THE  MAOMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.      Published  March,  1912.     Reprinted 
August,  191a;  January,  19x3  :  April,  August,  1913  ;  January, 
August,  1914;  July,  1915;  January,  March,  November,  1916; 


March,  1917. 


Nortooob  19«gs 

J.  S.  Cushlng  Co.  —Berwick  <fe  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass,,  U.S.A. 


TO  MY  WIFE 


Thy  place  is  biggyd  above  the  sterrys  deer, 
Noon  erthely  paleys  wrouhte  in  so  statly  wyse, 
Com  on  my  freend,  my  brothir  moost  enteer, 
For  the  I  offryd  my  blood  in  sacrifise. 

John  Lydgatb. 


THE   EVERLASTING  MERCY 

From  '41  to  '51 

I  was  my  folk's  contrary  son ; 

I  bit  my  father's  hand  right  through 

And  broke  my  mother's  heart  in  two. 

I  sometimes  go  without  my  dinner 

Now  that  I  know  the  times  I've  gi'n  her. 

From  '51  to  '61 

I  cut  my  teeth  and  took  to  fun. 

I  learned  what  not  to  be  afraid  of 

And  what  stuff  women's  lips  are  made  of; 

I  learned  with  what  a  rosy  feeling 

Good  ale  makes  floors  seem  like  the  ceiling, 

And  how  the  moon  gives  shiny  light 

To  lads  as  roll  home  singing  by't. 

B  1 


2  THE  EVERLASTING    MERCY 

My  blood  did  leap,  my  flesh  did  revel, 
Saul  Kane  was  tokened  to  the  devil. 

From  '61  to  '67 

I  lived  in  disbelief  of  Heaven. 

I  drunk,  I  fought,  I  poached,  I  whored, 

I  did  despite  unto  the  Lord. 

I  cursed,  'would  make  a  man  look  pale, 

And  nineteen  times  I  went  to  gaol. 

Now,  friends,  observe  and  look  upon  me, 
Mark  how  the  Lord  took  pity  on  me. 

By  Dead  Man's  Thorn,  while  setting  wires, 

Who  should  come  up  but  Billy  Myers, 

A  friend  of  mine,  who  used  to  be 

As  black  a  sprig  of  hell  as  me, 

With  whom  I'd  planned,  to  save  encroachin', 

Which  fields  and  coverts  each  should  poach 
in. 

Now  when  he  saw  me  set  my  snare, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  3 

He  tells  me  "Get  to  hell  from  there. 
This  field  is  mine,"  he  says,  "by  right; 
If  you  poach  here,  there'll  be  a  fight. 
Out  now,"  he  says,  "and  leave  your  wire; 
It's  mine." 

"It  ain't." 

"You  put." 

"You  liar." 
"Youcloshyput." 
"You  bloody  liar." 
"This  is  my  field." 
"This  is  my  wire." 
"I'm  ruler  here." 
"You  ain't." 
"lam." 

"I'll  fight  you  for  it." 
"Right,  by  damn. 

Not  now,  though,  I've  a-sprained  my  thumb, 
We'll  fight  after  the  harvest  hum. 
And  Silas  Jones,  that  bookie  wide, 


4  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

Will  make  a  purse  five  pounds  a  side." 
Those  were  the  words,  that  was  the  place 
By  which  God  brought  me  into  grace. 

On  Wood  Top  Field  the  peewits  go 
Mewing  and  wheeling  ever  so ; 
And  like  the  shaking  of  a  timbrel 
Cackles  the  laughter  of  the  whimbrel. 
In  the  old  quarry-pit  they  say 
Head-keeper  Pike  was  made  away. 
He  walks,  head-keeper  Pike,  for  harm, 
He  taps  the  windows  of  the  farm  ; 
The  blood  drips  from  his  broken  chin, 
He  taps  and  begs  to  be  let  in. 
On  Wood  Top,  nights,  I've  shaked  to  hark 
The  peewits  wambling  in  the  dark 
Lest  in  the  dark  the  old  man  might 
Creep  up  to  me  to  beg  a  light. 

But  Wood  Top  grass  is  short  and  sweet 
And  springy  to  a  boxer's  feet ; 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  8 

At  harvest  hum  the  moon  so  bright 
Did  shine  on  Wood  Top  for  the  fight. 

When    Bill  was    stripped    down    to    his 

bends 
I  thought  how  long  we  two'd  been  friends, 
And  in  my  mind,  about  that  wire, 
I  thought  "  He's  right,  I  am  a  liar. 
As  sure  as  skilly's  made  in  prison 
The  right  to  poach  that  copse  is  his'n. 
I'll  have  no  luck  to-night,"  thinks  I. 
"I'm  fighting  to  defend  a  lie. 
And  this  moonshiny  evening's  fun 
Is  worse  than  aught  I've  ever  done." 
And  thinking  that  way  my  heart  bled  so 
I  almost  stept  to  Bill  and  said  so. 
And  now  Bill's  dead  I  would  be  glad 
If  I  could  only  think  I  had. 
But  no.     I  put  the  thought  away 
For  fear  of  what  my  friends  would  sav. 


6  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

They'd  backed  me,  see  ?    O  Lord,  the  sin 
Done  for  the  things  there's  money  in. 

The   stakes   were   drove,  the  ropes  were 

hitched, 
Into  the  ring  my  hat  I  pitched. 
My  corner  faced  the  Squire's  park 
Just  where  the  fir  trees  make  it  dark ; 
The  place  where  I  begun  poor  Nell 
Upon  the  woman's  road  to  hell. 
I  thought  oft,  sitting  in  my  corner 
After  the  time-keep  struck  his  warner 
(Two  brandy  flasks,  for  fear  of  noise, 
Clinked  out  the  time  to  us  two  boys). 
And  while  my  seconds  chafed  and  gloved  me 
I  thought  of  Nell's  eyes  when  she  loved  me, 
And  wondered  how  my  tot  would  end, 
First  Nell  cast  off  and  now  my  friend ; 
And  in  the  moonlight  dim  and  wan 
I  knew  quite  well  my  luck  was  gone; 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  7 

And  looking  round  I  felt  a  spite 
At  all  who'd  come  to  see  me  fight ; 
The  five  and  forty  human  faces 
Inflamed  by  drink  and  going  to  races, 
Faces  of  men  who'd  never  been 
Merry  or  true  or  live  or  clean  ; 
Who'd  never  felt  the  boxer's  trim 
Of  brain  divinely  knit  to  limb, 
Nor  felt  the  whole  live  body  go 
One  tingling  health  from  top  to  toe ; 
Nor  took  a  punch  nor  given  a  swing, 
But  just  soaked  deady  round  the  ring 
Until  their  brains  and  bloods  were  foul 
Enough  to  make  their  throttles  howl, 
While  we  whom  Jesus  died  to  teach 
Fought    round    on    round,    three    minutes 
each. 

And  thinking  that,  you'll  understand 
I  thought,  "I'll  go  and  take  Bill's  hand. 


8  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

I'll  up  and  say  the  fault  was  mine, 

He  shan't  make  play  for  these  here  swine." 

And  then  I  thought  that  that  was  silly, 

They'd  think  I  was  afraid  of  Billy  ; 

They'd  think   (I  thought    it,   God    forgive 

me) 
I  funked  the  hiding  Bill  could  give  me. 
And  that  thought  made  me  mad  and  hot. 
"Think  that,  will  they?    Well,  they  shall 

not. 
They  shan't  think  that.    I  will  not.    I'm 
Damned  if  I  will.    I  will  not." 

Time! 

From  the  beginning  of  the  bout 

My  luck  was  gone,  my  hand  was  out. 

Right  fror    the  start  Bill  called  the  play, 

But  I  was  quick  and  kept  away 

Till  the  fourth  round,  when  work  got  mixed, 

And  then  I  knew  Bill  had  me  fixed. 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  9 

My  hand  was  out,  why,  Heaven  knows ; 
Bill  punched  me  when  and  where  he  chose. 
Through  two  more  rounds  we  quartered  wide, 
And  all  the  time  my  hands  seemed  tied ; 
Bill  punched  me  when  and  where  he  pleased. 
The  cheering  from  my  backers  eased, 
But  every  punch  I  heard  a  yell 
Of  "That's  the  style,  Bill,  give  him  hell." 
No  one  for  me,  but  Jimmy's  light 
" Straight  left !    Straight  left ! "  and  "Watch 
his  right." 

I  don't  know  how  a  boxer  goes 

When  all  his  body  hums  from  blows ; 

I  know  I  seemed  to  rock  and  spin, 

I  don't  know  how  I  saved  my  chin ; 

I  know  I  thought  my  only  friend 

Was  that  clinked  flask  at  each  round's  end 

When  my  two  seconds,  Ed  and  Jimmy, 

Had  sixty  seconds  help  to  gimme. 


10  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

But  in  the  ninth,  with  pain  and  knocks 
I  stopped  :  I  couldn't  fight  nor  box. 
Bill  missed  his  swing,  the  light  was  tricky, 
But  I  went  down,  and  stayed  down,  dicky. 
"Get  up,"  cried  Jim.     I  said,  "I  will." 
Then  all  the  gang  yelled,  "Out  him,  Bill. 
Out    him."     Bill    rushed  .  .  .  and    Clink, 

Clink,  Clink. 
Time  !  and  Jim's  knee,  and  rum  to  drink. 
And  round  the  ring  there  ran  a  titter : 
"Saved  by  the  call,  the  bloody  quitter." 

They  drove  (a  dodge  that  never  fails) 
A  pin  beneath  my  finger  nails. 
They  poured  what  seemed  a  running  beck 
Of  cold  spring  water  down  my  neck ; 
Jim  with  a  lancet  quick  as  flies 
Lowered  the  swellings  round  my  eyes. 
They  sluiced  my  legs  and  fanned  my  face 
Through  all  that  blessed  minute's  grace ; 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  11 

They  gave  my  calves  a  thorough  kneading, 
They  salved  my  cuts  and  stopped  the  bleeding. 
A  gulp  of  liquor  dulled  the  pain, 
And  then  the  two  flasks  clinked  again. 

Time! 

There  was  Bill  as  grim  as  death, 
He  rushed,  I  clinched,  to  get  more  breath. 
And  breath  I  got,  though  Billy  bats 
Some  stinging  short-arms  in  my  slats. 
And  when  we  broke,  as  I  foresaw, 
He  swung  his  right  in  for  the  jaw. 
I  stopped  it  on  my  shoulder  bone, 
And  at  the  shock  I  heard  Bill  groan  — 
A  little  groan  or  moan  or  grunt 
As  though  I'd  hit  his  wind  a  bunt. 
At  that,  I  clinched,  and  while  we  clinched. 
His  old  time  right  arm  dig  was  flinched, 
And  when  we  broke  he  hit  me  light 
As  though  he  didn't  trust  his  right, 


12  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

He  flapped  me  somehow  with  his  wrist 

As  though  he  couldn't  use  his  fist, 

And  when  he  hit  he  winced  with  pain. 

I  thought,  "Your  sprained  thumb's  crocked 

again." 
So  I  got  strength  and  Bill  gave  ground, 
And  that  round  was  an  easy  round. 

During  the  wait  my  Jimmy  said, 

"What's  making  Billy  fight  so  dead? 

He's  all  to  pieces.    Is  he  blown  ?" 

"His  thumb's  out." 

"No ?    Then  it's  your  own. 

It's  all  your  own,  but  don't  be  rash  — 

He's  got  the  goods  if  you've  got  cash, 

And  what  one  hand  can  do  he'll  do, 

Be  careful  this  next  round  or  two." 

Time.    There  was  Bill,  and  I  felt  sick 
That  luck  should  play  so  mean  a  trick 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  13 

And  give  me  leave  to  knock  him  out 

After  he'd  plainly  won  the  bout. 

But  by  the  way  the  man  came  at  me 

He  made  it  plain  he  meant  to  bat  me ; 

If  you'd  a  seen  the  way  he  come 

You  wouldn't  think  he'd  crocked  a  thumb. 

With  all  his  skill  and  all  his  might 

He  clipped  me  dizzy  left  and  right ; 

The  Lord  knows  what  the  effort  cost, 

But  he  was  mad  to  think  he'd  lost, 

And  knowing  nothing  else  could  save  him 

He  didn't  care  what  pain  it  gave  him. 

He  called  the  music  and  the  dance 

For  five  rounds  more  and  gave  no  chance. 

Try  to  imagine  if  you  can 

The  kind  of  manhood  in  the  man, 

And  if  you'd  like  to  feel  his  pain 

You  sprain  your  thumb  and  hit  the  sprain. 

And  hit  it  hard,  with  all  your  power 


14  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

On  something  hard  for  half-an-hour, 
While  someone  thumps  you  black  and  blue, 
And  then  you'll  know  what  Billy  knew. 
Bill  took  that  pain  without  a  sound 
Till  halfway  through  the  eighteenth  round, 
And  then  I  sent  him  down  and  out, 
And  Silas  said,  "Kane  wins  the  bout." 

When  Bill  came  to,  you  understand, 

I  ripped  the  mitten  from  my  hand 

And  went  across  to  ask  Bill  shake. 

My  limbs  were  all  one  pain  and  ache, 

I  was  so  weary  and  so  sore 

I  don't  think  I'd  a  stood  much  more. 

Bill  in  his  corner  bathed  his  thumb, 

Buttoned  his  shirt  and  glowered  glum. 

"I'll  never  shake  your  hand,"  he  said. 

"I'd  rather  see  my  children  dead. 

I've  been  about  and  had  some  fun  with  you, 

But  you're  a  liar  and  I've  done  with  you. 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  15 

You've  knocked  me  out,  you  didn't  beat  me  ; 
Look  out  the  next  time  that  you  meet  me, 
There'll  be  no  friend  to  watch  the  clock  for 

you 
And  no  convenient  thumb  to  crock  for  you, 
And  I'll  take  care,  with  much  delight, 
You'll  get  what  you'd  a  got  to-night ; 
That  puts  my  meaning  clear,  I  guess, 
Now  get  to  hell ;  I  want  to  dress." 

I  dressed.     My  backers  one  and  all 
Said,  "Well  done  you,"  or  "Good  old  Saul/1 
"Saul  is  a  wonder  and  a  fly  'un, 
What'll  you  have,  Saul,  at  the  Lion?" 
With  merry  oaths  they  helped  me  down 
The  stony  wood  path  to  the  town. 

The  moonlight  shone  on  Cabbage  Walk, 
It  made  the  limestone  look  like  chalk. 
It  was  too  late  for  any  people, 


16  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

Twelve  struck  as  we  went  by  the  steeple. 
A  dog  barked,  and  an  owl  was  calling, 
The  squire's  brook  was  still  a-falling, 
The  carved  heads  on  the  church  looked  down 
On  "Russell,  Blacksmith  of  this  Town," 
And  all  the  graves  of  all  the  ghosts 
Who  rise  on  Christmas  Eve  in  hosts 
To  dance  and  carol  in  festivity 
For  joy  of  Jesus  Christ's  Nativity 
(Bell-ringer  Dawe  and  his  two  sons 
Beheld  'em  from  the  bell-tower  once), 
Two  and  two  about  about 
Singing  the  end  of  Advent  out, 
Dwindling  down  to  windlestraws 
When  the  glittering  peacock  craws, 
As  craw  the  glittering  peacock  should 
When  Christ's  own  star  comes  over  the  wood. 
Lamb  of  the  sky  come  out  of  fold 
Wandering  windy  heavens  cold. 
So  they  shone  and  sang  till  twelve 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  17 

When  all  the  bells  ring  out  of  theirselve. 
Rang  a  peal  for  Christmas  morn, 
Glory,  men,  for  Christ  is  born. 

All  the  old  monks'  singing  places 
Glimmered  quick  with  flitting  faces, 
Singing  anthems,  singing  hymns 
Under  carven  cherubims. 
Ringer  Dawe  aloft  could  mark 
Faces  at  the  window  dark 
Crowding,  crowding,  row  on  row, 
Till  all  the  Church  began  to  glow. 
The  chapel  glowed,  the  nave,  the  choir, 
All  the  faces  became  fire 
Below  the  eastern  window  high 
To  see  Christ's  star  come  up  the  sky. 
Then  they  lifted  hands  and  turned, 
And  all  their  lifted  fingers  burned, 
Burned  like  the  golden  altar  tallows, 
Burned  like  a  troop  of  God's  own  Hallows, 


18  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

Bringing  to  mind  the  burning  time 
When  all  the  bells  will  rock  and  chime 
And  burning  saints  on  burning  horses 
Will  sweep  the  planets  from  their  courses 
And  loose  the  stars  to  burn  up  night. 
Lord,  give  us  eyes  to  bear  the  light. 

We  all  went  quiet  down  the  Scallenge 

Lest  Police  Inspector  Drew  should  challenge. 

But  'Spector  Drew  was  sleeping  sweet, 

His  head  upon  a  charges  sheet, 

Under  the  gas  jet  flaring  full, 

Snorting  and  snoring  like  a  bull, 

His  bull  cheeks  puffed,  his  bull  lips  blowing, 

His  ugly  yellow  front  teeth  showing. 

Just  as  we  peeped  we  saw  him  fumble 

And  scratch  his  head,  and  shift,  and  mumble. 

Down  in  the  lane  so  thin  and  dark 
The  tan-yards  stank  of  bitter  bark, 
The  curate's  pigeons  gave  a  flutter, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  19 

A  cat  went  courting  down  the  gutter, 
And  none  else  stirred  a  foot  or  feather. 
The  houses  put  their  heads  together, 
Talking,  perhaps,  so  dark  and  sly, 
Of  all  the  folk  they'd  seen  go  by, 
Children,  and  men  and  women,  merry  all, 
Who'd  some  day  pass  that  way  to  burial. 
It  was  all  dark,  but  at  the  turning 
The  Lion  had  a  window  burning. 
So  in  we  went  and  up  the  stairs, 
Treading  as  still  as  cats  and  hares. 
The  way  the  stairs  creaked  made  you  wonder 
If  dead  men's  bones  were  hidden  under. 
At  head  of  stairs  upon  the  landing 
A  woman  with  a  lamp  was  standing ; 
She  greet  each  gent  at  head  of  stairs 
With  "Step  in,  gents,  and  take  your  chairs. 
The  punch'U  come  when  kettle  bubble, 
But  don't  make  noise  or  there'll  be  trouble." 
'Twas  Doxy  Jane,  a  bouncing  girl 


20  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

With  eyes  all  sparks  and  hair  all  curl, 
And  cheeks  all  red  and  lips  all  coal, 
And  thirst  for  men  instead  of  soul. 
She's  trod  her  pathway  to  the  fire. 
Old  Rivers  had  his  nephew  by  her. 

I  step  aside  from  Tom  and  Jimmy 

To  find  if  she'd  a  kiss  to  gimme. 

I  blew  out  lamp  'fore  she  could  speak. 

She  said,  "If  you  ain't  got  a  cheek," 

And  then  beside  me  in  the  dim, 

"Did  he  beat  you  or  you  beat  him?" 

"Why,  I  beat  him"  (though  that  was  wrong), 

She  said,  "You  must  be  turble  strong. 

I'd  be  afraid  you'd  beat  me,  too." 

"You'd  not,"  I  said,  "I  wouldn't  do." 

"Never?" 

"No,  never." 

"Never?" 

"No." 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  21 

"0  Saul.    Here's  missus.    Let  me  go." 
It  wasn't  missus,  so  I  didn't, 
Whether  I  mid  do  or  I  midn't, 
Until  she'd  promised  we  should  meet 
Next  evening,  six,  at  top  of  street, 
When  we  could  have  a  quiet  talk 
On  that  low  wall  up  Worcester  Walk. 
And  while  we  whispered  there  together 
I  give  her  silver  for  a  feather 
And  felt  a  drunkenness  like  wine 
And  shut  out  Christ  in  husks  and  swine. 
I  felt  the  dart  strike  through  my  liver. 
God  punish  me  for't  and  forgive  her. 

Each  one  could  be  a  Jesus  mild, 
Each  one  has  been  a  little  child, 
A  little  child  with  laughing  look, 
A  lovely  white  unwritten  book ; 
A  book  that  God  will  take,  my  friend, 
As  each  goes  out  at  journey's  end. 


22  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

The  Lord  Who  gave  us  Earth  and  Heaven 
Takes  that  as  thanks  for  all  He's  given. 
The  book  he  lent  is  given  back 
All  blotted  red  and  smutted  black. 

"Open  the  door,"  said  Jim,  "and  call." 
Jane  gasped   "They'll  see  me.     Loose  me, 

Saul." 
She  pushed  me  by,  and  ducked  downstair 
With  half  the  pins  out  of  her  hair. 
I  went  inside  the  lit  room  rollen 
Her  scented  handkerchief  I'd  stolen. 
"What  would  you  fancy,  Saul?"  they  said. 
"A  gin  punch  hot  and  then  to  bed." 
"Jane,  fetch  the  punch  bowl  to  the  gemmen ; 
And  mind  you  don't  put  too  much  lemon. 
Our  good  friend  Saul  has  had  a  fight  of  it, 
Now  smoke  up,  boys,  and  make  a  night  of  it." 

The  room  was  full  of  men  and  stink 
Of  bad  cigars  and  heavy  drink. 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  23 

Riley  was  nodding  to  the  floor 
And  gurgling  as  he  wanted  more. 
His  mouth  was  wide,  his  face  was  pale, 
His  swollen  face  was  sweating  ale ; 
And  one  of  those  assembled  Greeks 
Had  corked  black  crosses  on  his  cheeks. 
Thomas  was  having  words  with  Goss, 
He  "wouldn't  pay,  the  fight  was  cross." 
And  Goss  told  Tom  that  "cross  or  no, 
The  bets  go  as  the  verdicts  go, 
By  all  Fve  ever  heard  or  read  of. 
So  pay,  or  else  I'll  knock  your  head  off." 
Jim  Gurvil  said  his  smutty  say 
About  a  girl  down  Bye  Street  way, 
And  how  the  girl  from  Froggatt's  circus 
Died  giving  birth  in  Newent  work'us. 
And  Dick  told  how  the  Dymock  wench 
Bore  twins,  poor  thing,  on  Dog  Hill  bench ; 
And  how  he'd  owned  to  one  in  Court 
And  how  Judge  made  him  sorry  for't. 


24  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

Jack  set  a  Jew's  harp  twanging  drily ; 
" Gimme  another  cup,"  said  Riley. 
A  dozen  more  were  in  their  glories 
With  laughs  and  smokes  and  smutty  stories ; 
And  Jimmy  joked  and  took  his  sup 
And  sang  his  song  of  "Up,  come  up." 
Jane  brought  the  bowl  of  stewing  gin 
And  poured  the  egg  and  lemon  in, 
And  whisked  it  up  and  served  it  out 
While  bawdy  questions  went  about. 
Jack  chucked  her  chin,  and  Jim  accost  her 
With  bits  out  of  the  "Maid  of  Gloster." 
And  fifteen  arms  went  round  her  waist. 
(And  then  men  ask,  Are  Barmaids  chaste  ?) 

O  young  men,  pray  to  be  kept  whole 
From  bringing  down  a  weaker  soul. 
Your  minute's  joy  so  meet  in  doin* 
May  be  the  woman's  door  to  ruin ; 
The  door  to  wandering  up  and  down, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  25 

A  painted  whore  at  half  a  crown. 

The  bright  mind  fouled,  the  beauty  gay 

All  eaten  out  and  fallen  away, 

By  drunken  days  and  weary  tramps 

From  pub  to  pub  by  city  lamps 

Till  men  despise  the  game  they  started 

Till  health  and  beauty  are  departed, 

And  in  a  slum  the  reeking  hag 

Mumbles  a  crust  with  toothy  jag, 

Or  gets  the  river's  help  to  end 

The  life  too  wrecked  for  man  to  mend. 

We  spat  and  smoked  and  took  our  swipe 
Till  Silas  up  and  tap  his  pipe, 
And  begged  us  all  to  pay  attention 
Because  he'd  several  things  to  mention. 
We'd  seen  the  fight   (Hear,  hear.     That's 

you); 
But  still  one  task  remained  to  do, 
That  task  was  his,  he  didn't  shun  it, 


26  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

To  give  the  purse  to  him  as  won  it. 
With  this  remark,  from  start  to  out 
He'd  never  seen  a  brisker  bout. 
There  was  the  purse.     At  that  he'd  leave  it. 
Let  Kane  come  forward  to  receive  it. 

I  took  the  purse  and  hemmed  and  bowed, 
And  called  for  gin  punch  for  the  crowd ; 
And  when  the  second  bowl  was  done, 
I  called,  "Let's  have  another  one." 
Si's  wife  come  in  and  sipped  and  sipped 
(As  women  will)  till  she  was  pipped. 
And  Si  hit  Dicky  Twot  a  clouter 
Because  he  put  his  arm  about  her ; 
But  after  Si  got  overtasked 
She  sat  and  kissed  whoever  asked. 
My  Doxy  Jane  was  splashed  by  this, 
I  took  her  on  my  knee  to  kiss. 
And  Tom  cried  out,  "  O  damn  the  gin ; 
Why  can't  we  all  have  women  in  ? 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  27 

Bess  Evans,  now,  or  Sister  Polly, 

Or  those  two  housemaids  at  the  Folly  ? 

Let  someone  nip  to  Biddy  Priced, 

They'd  all  come  in  a  brace  of  trices. 

Rose  Davies,  Sue,  and  Betsy  Perks ; 

One  man,  one  girl,  and  damn  all  Turks." 

But,  no.    " More  gin,"  they  cried;    "Come 

on. 
We'll  have  the  girls  in  when  it's  gone." 
So  round  the  gin  went,  hot  and  heady, 
Hot  Hollands  punch  on  top  of  deady. 

Hot  Hollands  punch  on  top  of  stout 
Puts  madness  in  and  wisdom  out. 
From  drunken  man  to  drunken  man 
The  drunken  madness  raged  and  ran. 
"I'm  climber  Joe  who  climbed  the  spire." 
"You're  climber  Joe  the  bloody  liar." 
"Who  says  I  lie?"    "I  do." 

"You  lie, 


28  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

I  climbed  the  spire  and  had  a  fly." 
"I'm  French  Suzanne,  the  Circus  Dancer, 
I'm  going  to  dance  a  bloody  Lancer." 
"If  I'd  my  rights  I'm  Squire's  heir." 
"By  rights  I'd  be  a  millionaire." 
"By  rights  I'd  be  the  lord  of  you, 
But  Farmer  Scriggins  had  his  do, 
He  done  me,  so  I've  had  to  hoove  it, 
I've  got  it  all  wrote  down  to  prove  it. 
And  one  of  these  dark  winter  nights 
He'll  learn  I  mean  to  have  my  rights ; 
I'll  bloody  him  a  bloody  fix, 
I'll  bloody  burn  his  bloody  ricks." 

From  three  long  hours  of  gin  and  smokes, 
And  two  girls'  breath  and  fifteen  blokes, 
A  warmish  night,  and  windows  shut, 
The  room  stank  like  a  fox's  gut. 
The  heat  and  smell  and  drinking  deep 
Began  to  stun  the  gang  to  sleep. 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  29 

Some  fell  downstairs  to  sleep  on  the  mat, 
Some  snored  it  sodden  where  they  sat. 
Dick  Twot  had  lost  a  tooth  and  wept, 
But  all  the  drunken  others  slept. 
Jane  slept  beside  me  in  the  chair, 
And  I  got  up ;  I  wanted  air. 

I  opened  window  wide  and  leaned 
Out  of  that  pigstye  of  the  fiend 
And  felt  a  cool  wind  go  like  grace 
About  the  sleeping  market-place. 
The  clock  struck  three,  and  sweetly,  slowly, 
The  bells  chimed  Holy,  Holy,  Holy ; 
And  in  a  second's  pause  there  fell 
The  cold  note  of  the  chapel  bell, 
And  then  a  cock  crew,  flapping  wings, 
And  summat  made  me  think  of  things. 
How  long  those  ticking  clocks  had  gone 
From  church  and  chapel,  on  and  on, 
Ticking  the  time  out,  ticking  slow 


30  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

To  men  and  girls  who'd  come  and  go, 
And  how  they  ticked  in  belfry  dark 
When  half  the  town  was  bishop's  park, 
And  how  they'd  rung  a  chime  full  tilt 
The  night  after  the  church  was  built, 
And  how  that  night  was  Lambert's  Feast, 
The  night  I'd  fought  and  been  a  beast. 
And  how  a  change  had  come.     And  then 
I  thought,  "  You  tick  to  different  men." 

What  with  the  fight  and  what  with  drinking 
And  being  awake  alone  there  thinking, 
My  mind  began  to  carp  and  tetter, 
"If  this  life's  all,  the  beasts  are  better." 
And  then  I  thought,  "I  wish  I'd  seen 
The  many  towns  this  town  has  been; 
I  wish  I  knew  if  they'd  a-got 
A  kind  of  summat  we've  a-not, 
If  them  as  built  the  church  so  fair 
Were  half  the  chaps  folk  say  they  were; 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  31 

For  they'd  the  skill  to  draw  their  plan, 

And  skill's  a  joy  to  any  man ; 

And  they'd  the  strength,  not  skill  alone, 

To  build  it  beautiful  in  stone ; 

And  strength  and  skill  together  thus 

O,  they  were  happier  men  than  us. 

But  if  they  were,  they  had  to  die 
The  same  as  every  one  and  I. 
And  no  one  lives  again,  but  dies, 
And  all  the  bright  goes  out  of  eyes, 
And  all  the  skill  goes  out  of  hands, 
And  all  the  wise  brain  understands, 
And  all  the  beauty,  all  the  power 
Is  cut  down  like  a  withered  flower. 
In  all  the  show  from  birth  to  rest 
I  give  the  poor  dumb  cattle  best." 

I  wondered,  then,  why  life  should  be, 
And  what  would  be  the  end  of  me 


32  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

When  youth  and  health  and  strength  were 

gone 
And  cold  old  age  came  creeping  on  ? 
A  keeper's  gun  ?    The  Union  ward  ? 
Or  that  new  quod  at  Hereford  ? 
And  looking  round  I  felt  disgust 
At  all  the  nights  of  drink  and  lust, 
And  all  the  looks  of  all  the  swine 
Who'd  said  that  they  were  friends  of  mine ; 
And  yet  I  knew,  when  morning  came, 
The  morning  would  be  just  the  same, 
For  I'd  have  drinks  and  Jane  would  meet  me 
And  drunken  Silas  Jones  would  greet  me, 
And  I'd  risk  quod  and  keeper's  gun 
Till  all  the  silly  game  was  done. 
"For  parson  chaps  are  mad,  supposm' 
A  chap  can  change  the  road  he's  chosen." 
And  then  the  Devil  whispered,  "Saul, 
Why  should  you  want  to  live  at  all  ? 
Why  fret  and  sweat  and  try  to  mend  ? 


TEE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  33 

It's  all  the  same  thing  in  the  end. 
But  when  it's  done,"  he  said,  "it's  ended. 
Why  stand  it,  since  it  can't  be  mended  ?" 
And  in  my  heart  I  heard  him  plain, 
"Throw  yourself  down  and  end  it,  Kane." 

"Why  not?"  said  I.    "Why  not?    But  no. 
I  won't.    I've  never  had  my  go. 
I've  not  had  all  the  world  can  give. 
Death  by  and  by,  but  first  I'll  live. 
The  world  owes  me  my  time  of  times, 
And  that  time's  coming  now,  by  crimes." 

A  madness  took  me  then.    I  felt 
I'd  like  to  hit  the  world  a  belt. 
I  felt  that  I  could  fly  through  air, 
A  screaming  star  with  blazing  hair, 
A  rushing  comet,  crackling,  numbing 
The  folk  with  fear  of  judgment  coming, 
A  'Lijah  in  a  fiery  car, 
Coming  to  tell  folk  what  they  are. 

D 


34  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

"  That's  what  I'll  do,"  I  shouted  loud, 

"I'll  tell  this  sanctimonious  crowd 

This  town  of  window  peeping,  prying, 

Maligning,  peering,  hinting,  lying, 

Male  and  female  human  blots 

Who   would,   but   daren't   be,  whores  and 

sots, 
That  they're  so  steeped  in  petty  vice 
That  they're  less  excellent  than  lice, 
That  they're  so  soaked  in  petty  virtue 
That  touching  one  of  them  will  dirt  you, 
Dirt  you  with  the  stain  of  mean 
Cheating  trade  and  going  between, 
Pinching,  starving,  scraping,  hoarding, 
Spying  through  the  chinks  of  boarding 
To  see  if  Sue,  the  prentice  lean, 
Dares  to  touch  the  margarine. 
Fawning,  cringing,  oiling  boots, 
Raging  in  the  crowd's  pursuits, 
Flinging  stones  at  all  the  Stephens, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  35 

Standing  firm  with  all  the  evens, 
Making  hell  for  all  the  odd, 
All  the  lonely  ones  of  God, 
Those  poor  lonely  ones  who  find 
Dogs  more  mild  than  human  kind. 
For  dogs,"  I  said,  "are  nobles  born 
To  most  of  you,  you  cockled  corn. 
I've  known  dogs  to  leave  their  dinner, 
Nosing  a  kind  heart  in  a  sinner. 
Poor  old  Crafty  wagged  his  tail 
The  day  I  first  came  home  from  jail. 
When  all  my  folk,  so  primly  clad, 
Glowered  black  and  thought  me  mad, 
And  muttered  how  they'd  been  respected, 
While  I  was  what  they'd  all  expected. 
(I've  thought  of  that  old  dog  for  years, 
And  of  how  near  I  come  to  tears.) 

But  you,  you  minds  of  bread  and  cheese, 
Are  less  divine  than  that  dog's  fleas. 


36  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

You  suck  blood  from  kindly  friends, 
And  kill  them  when  it  serves  your  ends. 
Double  traitors,  double  black, 
Stabbing  only  in  the  back, 
Stabbing  with  the  knives  you  borrow 
From  the  friends  you  bring  to  sorrow. 
You  stab  all  that's  true  and  strong, 
Truth  and  strength  you  say  are  wrong, 
Meek  and  mild,  and  sweet  and  creeping, 
Repeating,  canting,  cadging,  peeping, 
That's  the  art  and  that's  the  life 
To  win  a  man  his  neighbour's  wife. 
All  that's  good  and  all  that's  true, 
You  kill  that,  so  I'll  kill  you." 

At  that  I  tore  my  clothes  in  shreds 
And  hurled  them  on  the  window  leads ; 
I  flung  my  boots  through  both  the  winders 
And  knocked  the  glass  to  little  flinders ; 
The  punch  bowl  and  the  tumblers  followed, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  37 

And  then  I  seized  the  lamps  and  holloed, 

And  down  the  stairs,  and  tore  back  bolts, 

As  mad  as  twenty  blooded  colts ; 

And  out  into  the  street  I  pass, 

As  mad  as  two-year-olds  at  grass, 

A  naked  madman  waving  grand 

A  blazing  lamp  in  either  hand. 

I  yelled  like  twenty  drunken  sailors, 

"The  devil's  come  among  the  tailors." 

A  blaze  of  flame  behind  me  streamed, 

And  then  I  clashed  the  lamps  and  screamed 

"I'm  Satan,  newly  come  from  hell." 

And  then  I  spied  the  fire  bell. 

I've  been  a  ringer,  so  I  know 
How  best  to  make  a  big  bell  go. 
So  on  to  bell-rope  swift  I  swoop, 
And  stick  my  one  foot  in  the  loop 
And  heave  a  down-swig  till  I  groan, 
"Awake,  you  swine,  you  devil's  own." 


38  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

I  made  the  fire-bell  awake, 
I  felt  the  bell-rope  throb  and  shake ; 
I  felt  the  air  mingle  and  clang 
And  beat  the  walls  a  muffled  bang, 
And  stifle  back  and  boom  and  bay- 
Like  muffled  peals  on  Boxing  Day, 
And  then  surge  up  and  gather  shape, 
And  spread  great  pinions  and  escape ; 
And  each  great  bird  of  clanging  shrieks 

0  Fire  !   Fire,  from  iron  beaks. 

My  shoulders  cracked  to  send  around 
Those  shrieking  birds  made  out  of  sound 
With  news  of  fire  in  their  bills. 
(They  heard  'em  plain  beyond  Wall  Hills.) 

Up  go  the  winders,  out  come  heads, 

1  heard  the  springs  go  creak  in  beds ; 
But  still  I  heave  and  sweat  and  tire, 
And  still  the  clang  goes  "Fire,  Fire  !" 
"Where  is  it,  then ?    Who  is  it,  there ? 


ar 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  39 

You  ringer,  stop,  and  tell  us  where." 
"Run  round  and  let  the  Captain  know." 
"It  must  be  bad,  he's  ringing  so." 
"It's  in  the  town,  I  see  the  flame ; 
Look  there !    Look  there,  how  red  it  came." 
"tWhere  is  it,  then  ?    O  stop  the  bell." 
I  stopped  and  called :  "It's  fire  of  hell ; 
And  this  is  Sodom  and  Gomorrah, 
And  now  I'll  burn  you  up,  begorra." 

By  this  the  firemen  were  mustering, 

The  half-dressed  stable  men  were  flustering, 

Backing  the  horses  out  of  stalls 

While  this  man  swears  and  that  man  bawls, 

"Don't   take   th'   old  mare.    Back,  Toby, 

back. 
Back,  Lincoln.    Where's  the  fire,  Jack?" 
"Damned  if  I  know.     Out  Preston  way." 
"No.     It's  at  Chancey's  Pitch,  they  say." 
"It's  sixteen  ricks  at  Pauntley  burnt." 


40  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

"You  back  old  Darby  out,  I  durn't." 
They  ran  the  big  red  engine  out, 
And  put  'em  to  with  damn  and  shout. 
And  then  they  start  to  raise  the  shire, 
"Who  brought  the  news,  and  where's  the 

fire?" 
They'd  moonlight,  lamps,  and  gas  to  light 


'em. 


I  give  a  screech-owl's  screech  to  fright  'em, 
And  snatch  from  underneath  their  noses 
The  nozzles  of  the  fire  hoses. 
"I  am  the  fire.    Back,  stand  back, 
Or  else  I'll  fetch  your  skulls  a  crack ; 
D'you  see  these  copper  nozzles  here  ? 
They  weigh  ten  pounds  apiece,  my  dear ; 
I'm  fire  of  hell  come  up  this  minute 
To  burn  this  town,  and  all  that's  in  it. 
To  burn  you  dead  and  burn  you  clean, 
You  cogwheels  in  a  stopped  machine, 
You  hearts  of  snakes,  and  brains  of  pigeons, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  41 

You  dead  devout  of  dead  religions, 
You  offspring  of  the  hen  and  ass, 
By  Pilate  ruled,  and  Caiaphas. 
Now  your  account  is  totted.    Learn 
HelFs  flames  are  loose  and  you  shall  burn." 

At  that  I  leaped  and  screamed  and  ran, 
I  heard  their  cries  go,  "  Catch  him,  man." 
" Who  was  it  ?"    "Down  him."    "Out  him, 

Era." 
"Duck    him    at    pump,    we'll    see   who'll 

burn." 
A  policeman  clutched,  a  fireman  clutched, 
A  dozen  others  snatched  and  touched. 
"By  God,  he's  stripped  down  to  his  buff." 
"By  God,  we'll  make  him  warm  enough." 
"After  him,"    "Catch  him,"    "Out  him," 

"Scrobhim." 
"We'll  give  him  hell."     "By  God,  we'll  mob 

him." 


42  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

"  We'll  duck  him,  scrout  him,  flog  him,  fratch 

him." 
" All  right,"  I  said.      "But  first  you'll  catch 

him." 

The  men  who  don't  know  to  the  root 
The  joy  of  being  swift  of  foot, 
Have  never  known  divine  and  fresh 
The  glory  of  the  gift  of  flesh, 
Nor  felt  the  feet  exult,  nor  gone 
Along  a  dim  road,  on  and  on, 
Knowing  again  the  bursting  glows, 
The  mating  hare  in  April  knows, 
Who  tingles  to  the  pads  with  mirth 
At  being  the  swiftest  thing  on  earth. 
O,  if  you  want  to  know  delight, 
Run  naked  in  an  autumn  night, 
And  laugh,  as  I  laughed  then,  to  find 
A  running  rabble  drop  behind, 
And  whang,  on  every  door  you  pass, 


5 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  43 

Two  copper  nozzles,  tipped  with  brass, 

And  doubly  whang  at  every  turning, 

And  yell,  "All  hell's  let  loose,  and  burning." 

I  beat  my  brass  and  shouted  fire 
At  doors  of  parson,  lawyer,  squire, 
At  all  three  doors  I  threshed  and  slammed 
And  yelled  aloud  that  they  were  damned. 
I  clodded  squire's  glass  with  turves 
Because  he  spring-gunned  his  preserves. 
Through  parson's  glass  my  nozzle  swishes 
Because  he  stood  for  loaves  and  fishes, 
But  parson's  glass  I  spared  a  tittle. 
He  give  me  a  orange  once  when  little, 
And  he  who  gives  a  child  a  treat 
Makes  joy-bells  ring  in  Heaven's  street, 
And  he  who  gives  a  child  a  home 
Builds  palaces  in  Kingdom  come, 
And  she  who  gives  a  baby  birth 
Brings  Saviour  Christ  again  to  Earth, 


44  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

For  life  is  joy,  and  mind  is  fruit, 
And  body's  precious  earth  and  root. 
But  lawyer's  glass  —  well,  never  mind, 
Th'old  Adam's  strong  in  me,  I  find. 
God  pardon  man,  and  may  God's  son 
Forgive  the  evil  things  I've  done. 

What  more  ?    By  Dirty  Lane  I  crept 

Back  to  the  Lion,  where  I  slept. 

The  raging  madness  hot  and  floodin' 

Boiled  itself  out  and  left  me  sudden, 

Left  me  worn  out  and  sick  and  cold, 

Aching  as  though  I'd  all  grown  old ; 

So  there  I  lay,  and  there  they  found  me 

On  door-mat,  with  a  curtain  round  me. 

Si  took  my  heels  and  Jane  my  head 

And  laughed,  and  carried  me  to  bed. 

And    from    the    neighbouring    street     they 

resided 
My  boots  and  trousers,  coat  and  weskit ; 


THE  EVEBLASTING  MERCY  45 

They  bath-bricked  both  the  nozzles  bright 
To  be  mementoes  of  the  night, 
And  knowing  what  I  should  awake  with 
They  flannelled  me  a  quart  to  slake  with, 
And  sat  and  shook  till  half  past  two 
Expecting  Police  Inspector  Drew. 

I  woke  and  drank,  and  went  to  meat 
In  clothes  still  dirty  from  the  street. 
Down  in  the  bar  I  heard  'em  tell 
How  someone  rang  the  fire  bell, 
And  how  th'  inspector's  search  had  thriven, 
And  how  five  pounds  reward  was  given. 
And  Shepherd  Boyce,  of  Marley,  glad  us 
By  saying  it  was  blokes  from  mad'us, 
Or  two  young  rips  lodged  at  the  Prince 
Whom  none  had  seen  nor  heard  of  since, 
Or  that  young  blade  from  Worcester  Walk 
(You  know  how  country  people  talk). 
Young  Joe  the  ostler  come  in  sad, 


46  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

He  said  th'old  mare  had  bit  his  dad. 

He  said  there'd  come  a  blazing  screeching 

Daft  Bible-prophet  chap  a-preaching, 

Had  put  th'old  mare  in  such  a  taking 

She'd  thought  the  bloody  earth  was  quaking. 

And  others  come  and  spread  a  tale 

Of  cut-throats  out  of  Gloucester  jail, 

And  how  we  needed  extra  cops 

With  all  them  Welsh  come  picking  hops ; 

With  drunken  Welsh  in  all  our  sheds 

We  might  be  murdered  in  our  beds. 

By  all  accounts,  both  men  and  wives 
Had  had  the  scare  up  of  their  lives. 

I  ate  and  drank  and  gathered  strength, 
And  stretched  along  the  bench  full  length, 
Or  crossed  to  window  seat  to  pat 
Black  Silas  Jones's  little  cat. 
At  four  I  called,  "  You  devil's  own, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  47 

The  second  trumpet  shall  be  blown. 

The  second  trump,  the  second  blast ; 

Hell's  flames  are  loosed,   and    judgment's 

passed. 
Too  late  for  mercy  now.    Take  warning. 
I'm  death  and  hell  and  Judgment  morning." 
I  hurled  the  bench  into  the  settle, 
I  banged  the  table  on  the  kettle, 
I  sent  Joe's  quart  of  cider  spinning. 
"Lo,  here  begins  my  second  inning." 
Each  bottle,  mug,  and  jug  and  pot 
I  smashed  to  crocks  in  half  a  tot ; 
And  Joe,  and  Si,  and  Nick,  and  Percy 
I  rolled  together  topsy  versy. 
And  as  I  ran  I  heard  'em  call, 
"Now    damn    to    hell,    what's    gone    with 

Saul?" 

Out  into  street  I  ran  uproarious 
The  devil  dancing  in  me  glorious. 


48  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

And  as  I  ran  I  yell  and  shriek 

"Come  on,  now,  turn  the  other  cheek." 

Across  the  way  by  almshouse  pump 

I  see  old  puffing  parson  stump. 

Old  parson,  red-eyed  as  a  ferret 

From  nightly  wrestlings  with  the  spirit ; 

I  ran  across,  and  barred  his  path. 

His  turkey  gills  went  red  as  wrath 

And  then  he  froze,  as  parsons  can. 

"The  police  will  deal  with  you,  my  man." 

"Not  yet,"  said  I,  "not  yet  they  won't; 

And  now  you'll  hear  me,  like  or  don't. 

The  English  Church  both  is  and  was 

A  subsidy  of  Caiaphas. 

I  don't  believe  in  Prayer  nor  Bible, 

They're  lies  all  through,  and  you're  a  libel, 

A  libel  on  the  Devil's  plan 

When  first  he  miscreated  man. 

You  mumble  through  a  formal  code 

To  get  which  martyrs  burned  and  glowed. 


8T 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  4& 

I  look  on  martyrs  as  mistakes, 

But  still  they  burned  for  it  at  stakes ; 

Your  only  fire's  the  jolly  fire 

Where  you  can  guzzle  port  with  Squire, 

And  back  and  praise  his  damned  opinions 

About  his  temporal  dominions. 

You  let  him  give  the  man  who  digs, 

A  filthy  hut  unfit  for  pigs, 

Without  a  well,  without  a  drain, 

With  mossy  thatch  that  lets  in  rain, 

Without  a  'lotment,  'less  he  rent  it, 

And  never  meat,  unless  he  scent  it, 

But  weekly  doles  of  'leven  shilling 

To  make  a  grown  man  strong  and  willing, 

To  do  the  hardest  work  on  earth 

And  feed  his  wife  when  she  gives  birth, 

And  feed  his  little  children's  bones. 

I  tell  you,  man,  the  Devil  groans. 

With  all  your  main  and  all  your  might 

You  back  what  is  against  what's  right ; 


50  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

You  let  the  Squire  do  things  like  these, 
You  back  him  in't  and  give  him  ease, 
You  take  his  hand,  and  drink  his  wine, 
And  he's  a  hog,  but  you're  a  swine. 
For  you  take  gold  to  teach  God's  ways 
And  teach  man  how  to  sing  God's  praise. 
And  now  I'll  tell  you  what  you  teach 
In  downright  honest  English  speech. 

"You  teach  the  ground-down  starving  man 

That  Squire's  greed's  Jehovah's  plan. 

You  get  his  learning  circumvented 

Lest  it  should  make  him  discontented 

(Better  a  brutal,  starving  nation 

Than  men  with  thoughts  above  their  station), 

You  let  him  neither  read  nor  think, 

You  goad  his  wretched  soul  to  drink 

And  then  to  jail,  the  drunken  boor ; 

O  sad  intemperance  of  the  poor. 

You  starve  his  soul  till  it's  rapscallion, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  51 

Then  blame  his  flesh  for  being  stallion. 
You  send  your  wife  around  to  paint 
The  golden  glories  of  "restraint." 
How  moral  exercise  bewild'rin' 
Would  soon  result  in  fewer  children. 
You  work  a  day  in  Squire's  fields 
And  see  what  sweet  restraint  it  yields, 
A  woman's  day  at  turnip  picking, 
Your  heart's  too  fat  for  plough  or  ricking. 

"And  you  whom  luck  taught  French   and 

Greek 
Have  purple  flaps  on  either  cheek, 
A  stately  house,  and  time  for  knowledge, 
And  gold  to  send  your  sons  to  college, 
That  pleasant  place,  where  getting  learning 
Is  also  key  to  money  earning. 
But  quite  your  damndest  want  of  grace 
Is  what  you  do  to  save  your  face ; 
The  way  you  sit  astride  the  gates 


52  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

By  padding  wages  out  of  rates ; 
Your  Christmas  gifts  of  shoddy  blankets 
That  every  working  soul  may  thank  its 
Loving  parson,  loving  squire 
Through  whom  he  can't  afford  a  fire. 
Your  well-packed  bench,  your  prison  pen, 
To  keep  them  something  less  than  men ; 
Your  friendly  clubs  to  help  'em  bury, 
Your  charities  of  midwifery. 
Your  bidding  children  duck  and  cap 
To  them  who  give  them  workhouse  pap. 
O,  what  you  are,  and  what  you  preach, 
And  what  you  do,  and  what  you  teach 
Is  not  God's  Word,  nor  honest  schism, 
But  Devil's  cant  and  pauperism." 

By  this  time  many  folk  had  gathered 
To  listen  to  me  while  I  blathered  ; 
I  said  my  piece,  and  when  I'd  said  it, 
I'll  do  old  purple  parson  credit, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  53 

He  sunk  (as  sometimes  parsons  can) 

His  coat's  excuses  in  the  man. 

"You  think  that  Squire  and  I  are  kings 

Who  made  the  existing  state  of  things, 

And  made  it  ill.     I  answer,  No, 

States  are  not  made,  nor  patched ;  they  grow, 

Grow  slow  through  centuries  of  pain 

And  grow  correctly  in  the  main, 

But  only  grow  by  certain  laws 

Of  certain  bits  in  certain  jaws. 

You  want  to  doctor  that.     Let  be. 

You  cannot  patch  a  growing  tree. 

Put  these  two  words  beneath  your  hat, 

These  two :  securus  judicat. 

The  social  states  of  human  kinds 

Are  made  by  multitudes  of  minds, 

And  after  multitudes  of  years 

A  little  human  growth  appears 

Worth  having,  even  to  the  soul 

Who  sees  most  plain  it's  not  the  whole. 


54  THE  EVERLASTING   MERCY 

This  state  is  dull  and  evil,  both, 

I  keep  it  in  the  path  of  growth  ; 

You  think  the  Church  an  outworn  fetter ; 

Kane,  keep  it,  till  you've  built  a  better. 

And  keep  the  existing  social  state ; 

I  quite  agree  it's  out  of  date, 

One  does  too  much,  another  shirks, 

Unjust,  I  grant ;  but  still  ...  it  works. 

To  get  the  whole  world  out  of  bed 

And  washed,  and  dressed,  and  warmed,  and 

fed, 
To  work,  and  back  to  bed  again, 
Believe  me,  Saul,  costs  worlds  of  pain. 
Then,  as  to  whether  true  or  sham 
That  book  of  Christ,  Whose  priest  I  am ; 
The  Bible  is  a  lie,  say  you, 
Where  do  you  stand,  suppose  it  true  ? 
Good-bye.     But  if  you've  more  to  say, 
My  doors  are  open  night  and  day. 
Meanwhile,  my  friend,  'twould  be  no  sin 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  55 

To  mix  more  water  in  your  gin. 
We're  neither  saints  nor  Philip  Sidneys, 
But  mortal  men  with  mortal  kidneys." 

He  took  his  snuff,  and  wheezed  a  greeting, 
And  waddled  off  to  mothers'  meeting ; 
I  hung  my  head  upon  my  chest, 
I  give  old  purple  parson  best. 
For  while  the  Plough  tips  round  the  Pole 
The  trained  mind  outs  the  upright  soul, 
As  Jesus  said  the  trained  mind  might, 
Being  wiser  than  the  sons  of  light, 
But  trained  men's  minds  are  spread  so  thin 
They  let  all  sorts  of  darkness  in ; 
Whatever  light  man  finds  they  doubt  it 
They  love,  not  light,  but  talk  about  it. 

But  parson'd  proved  to  people's  eyes 
That  I  was  drunk,  and  he  was  wise  ; 
And  people  grinned  and  women  tittered, 
And  little  children  mocked  and  twittered. 


66  TEE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

So,  blazing  mad,  I  stalked  to  bar 

To  show  how  noble  drunkards  are, 

And  guzzled  spirits  like  a  beast, 

To  show  contempt  for  Church  and  priest, 

Until,  by  six,  my  wits  went  round 

Like  hungry  pigs  in  parish  pound. 

At  half  past  six,  rememb'ring  Jane, 

I  staggered  into  street  again 

With  mind  made  up  (or  primed  with  gin) 

To  bash  the  cop  who'd  run  me  in ; 

For  well  I  knew  Pd  have  to  cock  up 

My  legs  that  night  inside  the  lock-up, 

And  it  was  my  most  fixed  intent 

To  have  a  fight  before  I  went. 

Our  Fates  are  strange,  and  no  one  knows  his ; 

Our  lovely  Saviour  Christ  disposes. 

Jane  wasn't  where  we'd  planned,  the  jade. 
She'd  thought  me  drunk  and  hadn't  stayed. 
So  I  went  up  the  Walk  to  look  for  her 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  57 

And  lingered  by  the  little  brook  for  her, 
And  dowsed  my  face,  and  drank  at  spring, 
And  watched  two  wild  duck  on  the  wing. 
The  moon  come  pale,  the  wind  come  cool, 
A  big  pike  leapt  in  Lower  Pool, 
The  peacock  screamed,  the  clouds  were  strak- 

My  cut  cheek  felt  the  weather  breaking  ; 
An  orange  sunset  waned  and  thinned 
Foretelling  rain  and  western  wind, 
And  while  I  watched  I  heard  distinct 
The  metals  on  the  railway  clinked. 
The  blood-edged  clouds  were  all  in  tatters, 
The  sky  and  earth  seemed  mad  as  hatters ; 
They  had  a  death  look,  wild  and  odd, 
Of  something  dark  foretold  by  God. 
And  seeing  it  so,  I  felt  so  shaken 
I  wouldn't  keep  the  road  I'd  taken, 
But  wandered  back  towards  the  inn 
Resolved  to  brace  myself  with  gin. 


58  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

And  as  I  walked,  I  said,  "It's  strange, 
There's    Death    let     loose     to-night,     and 
Changed 

In  Cabbage  Walk  I  made  a  haul 
Of  two  big  pears  from  lawyer's  wall, 
And,  munching  one,  I  took  the  lane 
Back  into  Market-place  again. 
Lamp-lighter  Dick  had  passed  the  turning^ 
And  all  the  Homend  lamps  were  burning. 
The  windows  shone,  the  shops  were  busy, 
But  that  strange  Heaven  made  me  dizzy. 
The  sky  had  all  God's  warning  writ 
In  bloody  marks  all  over  it, 
And  over  all  I  thought  there  was 
A  ghastly  light  besides  the  gas. 
The  Devil's  tasks  and  Devil's  rages 
Were  giving  me  the  Devil's  wages. 

In  Market-place  it's  always  light, 
The  big  shop  windows  make  it  bright ; 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  59 

And  in  the  press  of  people  buying 

I  spied  a  little  fellow  crying 

Because  his  mother'd  gone  inside 

And  left  him  there,  and  so  he  cried. 

And  mother'd  beat  him  when  she  found  him, 

And  mother's  whip  would  curl  right  round 

him, 
And  mother'd  say  he'd  done't  to  crost  her, 
Though  there  being  crowds  about  he'd   lost 

her. 

Lord,  give  to  men  who  are  old  and  rougher 
The  things  that  little  children  suffer, 
And  let  keep  bright  and  undefiled 
The  young  years  of  the  little  child. 
I  pat  his  head  at  edge  of  street 
And  gi'm  my  second  pear  to  eat. 
Right  under  lamp,  I  ptt  his  head, 
"I'll  stay  till  mother  c(  me,"  I  said, 
And  stay  I  did,  and  joked  and  talked, 


60  TEE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

And  shoppers  wondered  as  they  walked. 

"  There's  that  Saul  Kane,  the  drunken  blag- 

gard, 
Talking  to  little  Jimmy  Jaggard. 
The  drunken  blaggard  reeks  of  drink." 
"Whatever  will  his  mother  think?" 
"Wherever  has  his  mother  gone? 
Nip  round  to  Mrs.  Jaggard's,  John, 
And  say  her  Jimmy's  out  again, 
In  Market  place,  with  boozer  Kane." 
"When  he  come  out  to-day  he  staggered. 
O,  Jimmy  Jaggard,  Jimmy  Jaggard." 
"His  mother's  gone  inside  to  bargain, 
Run  in  and  tell  her,  Polly  Margin, 
And  tell  her  poacher  Kane  is  tipsy 
And  selling  Jimmy  to  a  gipsy." 
"Run  in  to  Mrs.  Jaggard,  Ellen, 
Or  else,  dear  knows,  there'll  be  no  telling 
And  don't  dare  leave  yer  till  you've  fount 

her, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  61 

You'll  find  her  at  the  linen  counter/ ' 
I  told  a  tale,  to  Jim's  delight, 
Of  where  the  tom-cats  go  by  night, 
And  how  when  moonlight  come  they  went 
Among  the  chimneys  black  and  bent, 
From  roof  to  roof,  from  house  to  house, 
With  little  baskets  full  of  mouse 
All  red  and  white,  both  joint  and  chop 
Like  meat  out  of  a  butcher's  shop ; 
Then  all  along  the  wall  they  creep 
And  everyone  is  fast  asleep, 
And  honey-hunting  moths  go  by, 
And  by  the  bread-batch  crickets  cry ; 
Then  on  they  hurry,  never  waiting 
To  lawyer's  backyard  cellar  grating 
Where  Jaggard's  cat,  with  clever  paw, 
Unhooks  a  broke-brick's  secret  door ; 
Then  down  into  the  cellar  black, 
Across  the  wood  slug's  slimy  track, 
Into  an  old  cask's  quiet  hollow, 


62  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

Where  they've  got  seats  for  what's  to  follow ; 

Then  each  tom-cat  lights  little  candles, 

And  O,  the  stories  and  the  scandals, 

And  O,  the  songs  and  Christmas  carols, 

And  O,  the  milk  from  little  barrels. 

They  light  a  fire  fit  for  roasting 

(And  how   good  mouse-meat  smells  when 

toasting), 
Then  down  they  sit  to  merry  feast 
While  moon  goes  west  and  sun  comes  east. 

Sometimes  they  make  so  merry  there 

Old  lawyer  come  to  head  of  stair 

To  'fend  with  fist  and  poker  took  firm 

His  parchments  channelled  by  the  bookworm, 

And  all  his  deeds,  and  all  his  packs 

Of  withered  ink  and  sealing  wax ; 

And  there  he  stands,  with  candle  raised, 

And  listens  like  a  man  amazed, 

Or  like  a  ghost  a  man  stands  dumb  at, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  63 

He  says,  "Hush  !    Hush  !     I'm  sure  there's 

summat." 
He  hears  outside  the  brown  owl  call, 
He  hears  the  death-tick  tap  the  wall, 
The  gnawing  of  the  wainscot  mouse, 
The  creaking  up  and  down  the  house, 
The  unhooked  window's  hinges  ranging, 
The  sounds  that  say  the  wind  is  changing. 
At  last  he  turns,  and  shakes  his  head, 
"It's  nothing,  I'll  go  back  to  bed." 

And  just  then  Mrs.  Jaggard  came 
To  view  and  end  her  Jimmy's  shame. 

She  made  one  rush  and  gi'm  a  bat 

And  shook  him  like  a  dog  a  rat. 

"I  can't  turn  round  but  what  you're  straying. 

I'll  give  you  tales  and  gipsy  playing. 

I'll  give  you  wand'ring  off  like  this 

And  listening  to  whatever  'tis, 


64  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

You'll  laugh  the  little  side  of  the  can, 
You'll  have  the  whip  for  this,  my  man ; 
And  not  a  bite  of  meat  nor  bread 
You'll  touch  before  you  go  to  bed. 
Some  day  you'll  break  your  mother's  heart, 
After  God  knows  she's  done  her  part, 
Working  her  arms  off  day  and  night 
Trying  to  keep  your  collars  white. 
Look  at  your  face,  too,  in  the  street. 
What  dirty  filth've  you  found  to  eat  ? 
Now  don't  you  blubber  here,  boy,  or 
I'll  give  you  sum't  to  blubber  for." 
She  snatched  him  off  from  where  we  stand 
And  knocked  the  pear-core  from  his  hand, 
And  looked  at  me,  "You  Devil's  limb, 
How  dare  you  talk  to  Jaggard's  Jim  ; 
You  drunken,  poaching,  boozing  brute,  you, 
If  Jaggard  was  a  man  he'd  shoot  you." 
She  glared  all  this,  but  didn't  speak, 
She  gasped,  white  hollows  in  her  cheek ; 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  65 

Jimmy  was  writhing,  screaming  wild, 
The  shoppers  thought  I'd  killed  the  child. 

I  had  to  speak,  so  I  begun. 

"You'd  oughtn't  beat  your  little  son ; 

He  did  no  harm,  but  seeing  him  there 

I  talked  to  him  and  gi'm  a  pear ; 

I'm  sure  the  poor  child  meant  no  wrong, 

It's  all  my  fault  he  stayed  so  long, 

He'd  not  have  stayed,  mum,  I'll  be  bound 

If  I'd  not  chanced  to  come  around. 

It's  all  my  fault  he  stayed,  not  his.    , 

I  kept  him  here,  that's  how  it  is." 

"Oh  !    And  how  dare  you,  then?"  says  she, 

"How  dare  you  tempt  my  boy  from  me? 

How  dare  you  do't,  you  drunken  swine, 

Is  he  your  child  or  is  he  mine  ? 

A  drunken  sot  they've  had  the  beak  to, 

Has  got  his  dirty  whores  to  speak  to, 

His  dirty  mates  with  whom  he  drink, 


66  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

Not  little  children,  one  would  think. 

Look  on  him,  there,"  she  says,  "look  on  him 

And  smell  the  stinking  gin  upon  him, 

The  lowest  sot,  the  drunknest  liar, 

The  dirtiest  dog  in  all  the  shire : 

Nice  friends  for  any  woman's  son 

After  ten  years,  and  all  she's  done. 

"  For  I've  had  eight,  and  buried  five, 
And  only  three  are  left  alive. 
I've  given  them  all  we  could  afford. 
I've  taught  them  all  to  fear  the  Lord. 
They've  had  the  best  we  had  to  give, 
The  only  three  the  Lord  let  live. 

"For  Minnie  whom  I  loved  the  worst 
Died  mad  in  childbed  with  her  first. 
And  John  and  Mary  died  of  measles, 
And  Rob  was  drownded  at  the  Teasels. 
And  little  Nan,  dear  little  sweet, 
A  cart  run  over  in  the  street ; 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  67 

Her  little  shift  was  all  one  stain, 
I  prayed  God  put  her  out  of  pain. 
And  all  the  rest  are  gone  or  going 
The  road  to  hell,  and  there's  no  knowing 
For  all  I've  done  and  all  I've  made  them 
I'd  better  not  have  overlaid  them. 
For  Susan  went  the  ways  of  shame 
The  time  the  'till'ry  regiment  came, 
And  t'have  her  child  without  a  father 
I  think  I'd  have  her  buried  rather. 
And  Dicky  boozes,  God  forgimme, 
And  now't's  to  be  the  same  with  Jimmy. 
And  all  I've  done  and  all  I've  bore 
Has  made  a  drunkard  and  a  whore, 
A  bastard  boy  who  wasn't  meant, 
And  Jimmy  gwine  where  Dicky  went  ; 
For  Dick  began  the  self-same  way 
And  my  old  hairs  are  going  gray, 
And  my  poor  man's  a  withered  knee, 
And  all  the  burden  falls  on  me. 


68  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

"I've  washed  eight  little  children's  limbs, 

I've  taught  eight  little  souls  their  hymns, 

I've  risen  sick  and  lain  down  pinched 

And  borne  it  all  and  never  flinched ; 

But  to  see  him,  the  town's  disgrace, 

With  God's  commandments  broke  in's  face, 

Who  never  worked,  not  he,  nor  earned, 

Nor  will  do  till  the  seas  are  burned, 

Who  never  did  since  he  was  whole 

A  hand's  turn  for  a  human  soul, 

But  poached  and  stole  and  gone  with  women, 

And  swilled  down  gin  enough  to  swim  in, 

To  see  him  only  lift  one  finger 

To  make  my  little  Jimmy  linger. 

In  spite  of  all  his  mother's  prayers, 

And  all  her  ten  long  years  of  cares, 

And  all  her  broken  spirit's  cry 

That  drunkard's  finger  puts  them  by, 

And  Jimmy  turns.     And  now  I  see 

That  just  as  Dick  was,  Jim  will  be, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  69 

And  all  my  life  will  have  been  vain. 
I  might  have  spared  myself  the  pain, 
And  done  the  world  a  blessed  riddance 
If  I'd  a  drowned  'em  all  like  kittens. 
And  he  the  sot,  so  strong  and  proud, 
Who'd  make  white  shirts  of 's  mother's  shroud, 
He  laughs  now,  it's  a  joke  to  him, 
Though  it's  the  gates  of  hell  to  Jim. 

"I've  had  my  heart  burnt  out  like  coal, 
And  drops  of  blood  wrung  from  my  soul 
Day  in,  day  out,  in  pain  and  tears, 
For  five  and  twenty  wretched  years ; 
And  he,  he's  ate  the  fat  and  sweet, 
And  loafed  and  spat  at  top  of  street, 
And  drunk  and  leched  from  day  till  morrow, 
And  never  known  a  moment's  sorrow. 
He  come  out  drunk  from  th'  inn  to  look 
The  day  my  little  Nan  was  took ; 
He  sat  there  drinking,  glad  and  gay, 


70  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

The  night  my  girl  was  led  astray ; 

He  praised  my  Dick  for  singing  well, 

The  night  Dick  took  the  road  to  hell ; 

And  when  my  corpse  goes  stiff  and  blind, 

Leaving  four  helpless  souls  behind, 

He  will  be  there  still,  drunk  and  strong. 

It  do  seem  hard.     It  do  seem  wrong. 

But  'Woe  to  him  by  whom  the  offence/ 

Says  our  Lord  Jesus'  Testaments. 

Whatever  seems,  God  doth  not  slumber 

Though  he  lets  pass  times  without  number. 

He'll  come  with  trump  to  call  his  own, 

And  this  world's  way'll  be  overthrown. 

He'll  come  with  glory  and  with  fire 

To  cast  great  darkness  on  the  liar, 

To  burn  the  drunkard  and  the  treacher, 

And  do  his  judgment  on  the  lecher, 

To  glorify  the  spirits'  faces 

Of  those  whose  ways  were  stony  places, 

Who  chose  with  Ruth  the  better  part ; 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  71 

O  Lord,  I  see  Thee  as  Thou  art, 

0  God,  the  fiery  four-edged  sword, 
The  thunder  of  the  wrath  outpoured, 
The  fiery  four-faced  creatures  burning, 
And  all  the  four-faced  wheels  all  turning, 
Coming  with  trump  and  fiery  saint. 
Jim,  take  me  home,  I'm  turning  faint." 
They  went,  and  some  cried,  "Good  old  sod." 
"She  put  it  to  him  straight,  by  God." 

Summat  she  was,  or  looked,  or  said, 
Went  home  and  made  me  hang  my  head. 

1  slunk  away  into  the  night 
Knowing  deep  down  that  she  was  right. 
I'd  often  heard  religious  ranters, 

And  put  them  down  as  windy  canters, 
But  this  old  mother  made  me  see 
The  harm  I  done  by  being  me. 
Being  both  strong  and  given  to  sin 
I  'tracted  weaker  vessels  in. 


72  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

So  back  to  bar  to  get  more  drink, 

I  didn't  dare  begin  to  think, 

And  there  were  drinks  and  drunken  singing, 

As  though  this  life  were  dice  for  flinging ; 

Dice  to  be  flung,  and  nothing  furder, 

And  Christ's  blood  just  another  murder. 

"Come  on,  drinks  round,  salue,  drink  hearty, 

Now,  Jane,  the  punch-bowl  for  the  party. 

If  any  here  won't  drink  with  me 

I'll  knock  his  bloody  eyes  out.     See  ? 

Come  on,  cigars  round,  rum  for  mine, 

Sing  us  a  smutty  song,  some  swine." 

But  though  the  drinks  and  songs  went  round 

That  thought  remained,  it  was  not  drowned. 

And  when  I'd  rise  to  get  a  light 

I'd  think,  "What's  come  to  me  to-night  ?" 

There's  always  crowds  when  drinks  are  stand- 
ing. 
The  house  doors  slammed  along  the  landing, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  73 

The  rising  wind  was  gusty  yet, 

And  those  who  came  in  late  were  wet ; 

And  all  my  body's  nerves  were  snappm* 

With  sense  of  summat  'bout  to  happen, 

And  music  seemed  to  come  and  go 

And  seven  lights  danced  in  a  row. 

There  used  to  be  a  custom  then, 

Miss  Bourne,  the  Friend,  went  round  at  ten 

To  all  the  pubs  in  all  the  place, 

To  bring  the  drunkards'  souls  to  grace  ; 

Some  sulked,  of  course,  and  some  were  stirred, 

But  none  give  her  a  dirty  word. 

A  tall  pale  woman,  grey  and  bent, 

Folk  said  of  her  that  she  was  sent. 

She  wore  Friends'  clothes,  and  women  smiled, 

But  she'd  a  heart  just  like  a  child. 

She  come  to  us  near  closing  time 

When  we  were  at  some  smutty  rhyme, 

And  I  was  mad,  and  ripe  for  fun ; 

I  wouldn't  a  minded  what  I  done. 


74  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

So  when  she  come  so  prim  and  grey 

I  pound  the  bar  and  sing,  "  Hooray, 

Here's  Quaker  come  to  bless  and  kiss  us, 

Come,  have  a  gin  and  bitters,  missus. 

Or  may  be  Quaker  girls  so  prim 

Would  rather  start  a  bloody  hymn. 

Now  Dick,  oblige.     A  hymn,  you  swine, 

Pipe  up  the  l  Officer  of  the  Line/ 

A  song  to  make  one's  belly  ache, 

Or  'Nell  and  Roger  at  the  Wake/ 

Or  that  sweet  song,  the  talk  in  town, 

'The  lady  fair  and  Abel  Brown.' 

'O,  who's  that  knocking  at  the  door/ 

Miss  Bourne'll  play  the  music  score." 

The  men  stood  dumb  as  cattle  are, 

They  grinned,  but  thought  I'd  gone  too  farP 

There  come  a  hush  and  no  one  break  it, 

They  wondered    how    Miss   Bourne  would 

take  it. 
She  up  to  me  with  black  eyes  wide, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  75 

She  looked  as  though  her  spirit  cried; 
She  took  my  tumbler  from  the  bar 
Beside  where  all  the  matches  are 
And  poured  it  out  upon  the  floor  dust, 
Among  the  fag-ends,  spit  and  saw-dust. 

"  Saul  Kane,"  she  said,  "  when  next  you  drink, 
Do  me  the  gentleness  to  think 
That  every  drop  of  drink  accursed 
Makes  Christ  within  you  die  of  thirst, 
That  every  dirty  word  you  say 
Is  one  more  flint  upon  His  way, 
Another  thorn  about  His  head, 
Another  mock  by  where  He  tread, 
Another  nail,  another  cross. 
All  that  you  are  is  that  Christ's  loss." 
The  clock  run  down  and  struck  a  chime 
And  Mrs.  Si  said,  "  Closing  time." 

The  wet  was  pelting  on  the  pane 
And  something  broke  inside  my  brain, 


76  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

I  heard  the  rain  drip  from  the  gutters 

And  Silas  putting  up  the  shutters, 

While  one  by  one  the  drinkers  went ; 

I  got  a  glimpse  of  what  it  meant, 

How  she  and  I  had  stood  before 

In  some  old  town  by  some  old  door 

Waiting  intent  while  someone  knocked 

Before  the  door  for  ever  locked ; 

She  was  so  white  that  I  was  scared, 

A  gas  jet,  turned  the  wrong  way,  flared, 

And  Silas  snapped  the  bars  in  place. 

Miss  Bourne  stood  white  and  searched  my  face. 

When  Silas  done,  with  ends  of  tunes 

He  'gan  a  gathering  the  spittoons, 

His  wife  primmed  lips  and  took  the  till. 

Miss  Bourne  stood  still  and  I  stood  still, 

And  "Tick.  Slow.  Tick.  Slow"  went  the  clock. 

She  said,  "He  waits  until  you  knock." 

She  turned  at  that  and  went  out  swift, 

Si  grinned  and  winked,  his  missus  sniffed. 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  77 

I  heard  her  clang  the  Lion  door, 

I  marked  a  drink-drop  roll  to  floor ; 

It  took  up  scraps  of  sawdust,  furry, 

And  crinkled  on,  a  half  inch,  blurry ; 

A  drop  from  my  last  glass  of  gin ; 

And  someone  waiting  to  come  in, 

A  hand  upon  the  door  latch  gropen 

Knocking  the  man  inside  to  open. 

I  know  the  very  words  I  said, 

They  bayed  like  bloodhounds  in  my  [head. 

"The  water's  going  out  to  sea 

And  there's  a  great  moon  calling  me ; 

But  there's  a  great  sun  calls  the  moon, 

And  all  God's  bells  will  carol  soon 

For  joy  and  glory  and  delight 

Of  someone  coming  home  to-night." 

Out  into  darkness,  out  to  night, 
My  flaring  heart  gave  plenty  light, 
So  wild  it  was  there  was  no  knowing 


78  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

Whether  the  clouds  or  stars  were  blowing ; 
Blown  chimney  pots  and  folk  blown  blind, 
And  puddles  glimmering  like  my  mind, 
And  chinking  glass  from  windows  banging, 
And  inn  signs  swung  like  people  hanging, 
And  in  my  heart  the  drink  unpriced, 
The  burning  cataracts  of  Christ. 

I  did  not  think,  I  did  not  strive, 

The  deep  peace  burnt  my  me  alive ; 

The  bolted  door  had  broken  in, 

I  knew  that  I  had  done  with  sin. 

I  knew  that  Christ  had  given  me  birth 

To  brother  all  the  souls  on  earth, 

And  every  bird  and  every  beast 

Should  share  the  crumbs  broke  at  the  feast. 

O  glory  of  the  lighted  mind. 

How  dead  I'd  been,  how  dumb,  how  blind. 

The  station  brook,  to  my  new  eyes, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  79 

Was  babbling  out  of  Paradise, 
The  waters  rushing  from  the  rain 
Were  singing  Christ  has  risen  again. 
I  thought  all  earthly  creatures  knelt 
From  rapture  of  the  joy  I  felt. 
The  narrow  station-wall's  brick  ledge, 
The  wild  hop  withering  in  the  hedge, 
The  lights  in  huntsman's  upper  storey 
Were  parts  of  an  eternal  glory, 
Were  God's  eternal  garden  flowers. 
I  stood  in  bliss  at  this  for  hours. 

O  glory  of  the  lighted  soul. 
The  dawn  came  up  on  Bradlow  Knoll,    , 
The  dawn  with  glittering  on  the  grasses, 
The  dawn  which  pass  and  never  passes. 

"It's  dawn,"  I  said,  "And  chimney's  smok- 
ing, 
And  all  the  blessed  fields  are  soaking. 


80  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

It's  dawn,  and  there's  an  engine  shunting ; 
And  hounds,  for  huntsman's  going  hunting. 
It's  dawn,  and  I  must  wander  north 
Along  the  road  Christ  led  me  forth." 

So  up  the  road  I  wander  slow 

Past  where  the  snowdrops  used  to  grow 

With  celandines  in  early  springs, 

When  rainbows  were  triumphant  things 

And  dew  so  bright  and  flowers  so  glad, 

Eternal  joy  to  lass  and  lad. 

And  past  the  lovely  brook  I  paced, 

The  brook  whose  source  I  never  traced, 

The  brook,  the  one  of  two  which  rise 

In  my  green  dream  in  Paradise, 

In  wells  where  heavenly  buckets  clink 

To  give  God's  wandering  thirsty  drink 

By  those  clean  cots  of  carven  stone 

Where  the  clear  water  sings  alone. 

Then  down,  past  that  white-blossomed  pond, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  81 

And  past  the  chestnut  trees  beyond, 
And  past  the  bridge  the  fishers  knew, 
Where  yellow  flag  flowers  once  grew, 
Where  we'd  go  gathering  cops  of  clover, 
In  sunny  June  times  long  since  over. 
O  clover-cops  half  white,  half  red, 
O  beauty  from  beyond  the  dead. 
O  blossom,  key  to  earth  and  heaven, 
O  souls  that  Christ  has  new  forgiven. 

Then  down  the  hill  to  gipsies'  pitch 

By  where  the  brook  clucks  in  the  ditch. 

A  gipsy's  camp  was  in  the  copse, 

Three  felted  tents,  with  beehive  tops, 

And    round    black  marks  where   fires  Ahad 

been, 
And  one  old  waggon  painted  green, 
And  three  ribbed  horses  wrenching  grass, 
And  three  wild  boys  to  watch  me  pass, 
And  one  old  woman  by  the  fire 


82  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

Hulking  a  rabbit  warm  from  wire. 
I  loved  to  see  the  horses  bait. 
I  felt  I  walked  at  Heaven's  gate, 
That  Heaven's  gate  was  opened  wide 
Yet  still  the  gipsies  camped  outside. 
The  waste  souls  will  prefer  the  wild, 
Long  after  life  is  meek  and  mild. 
Perhaps  when  man  has  entered  in 
His  perfect  city  free  from  sin, 
The  campers  will  come  past  the  walls 
With  old  lame  horses  full  of  galls, 
And  waggons  hung  about  with  withies, 
And  burning  coke  in  tinker's  stithies, 
And  see  the  golden  town,  and  choose, 
And  think  the  wild  too  good  to  lose. 
And  camp  outside,  as  these  camped  then 
With  wonder  at  the  entering  men. 
So  past,  and  past  the  stone  heap  white 
That  dewberry  trailers  hid  from  sight, 
And  down  the  field  so  full  of  springs, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  83 

Where  mewing  peewits  clap  their  wings, 
And  past  the  trap  made  for  the  mill 
Into  the  field  below  the  hill. 
There  was  a  mist  along  the  stream, 
A  wet  mist,  dim,  like  in  a  dream; 
I  heard  the  heavy  breath  of  cows, 
And  waterdrops  from  th'alder  boughs ; 
And  eels,  or  snakes,  in  dripping  grass, 
Whipping  aside  to  let  me  pass. 
The  gate  was  backed  against  the  ryme 
To  pass  the  cows  at  milking  time. 
And  by  the  gate  as  I  went  out 
A  moldwarp  rooted  earth  wi's  snout. 
A  few  steps  up  the  Callows'  Lane 
Brought  me  above  the  mist  again, 
The  two  great  fields  arose  like  death 
Above  the  mists  of  human  breath. 

All  earthly  things  that  blessed  morning 
Were  everlasting  joy  and  warning. 


84  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

The  gate  was  Jesus'  way  made  plain, 
The  mole  was  Satan  foiled  again, 
Black  blinded  Satan  snouting  way 
Along  the  red  of  Adam's  clay  ; 
The  mist  was  error  and  damnation, 
The  lane  the  road  unto  salvation. 
Out  of  the  mist  into  the  light, 
O  blessed  gift  of  inner  sight. 
The  past  was  faded  like  a  dream ; 
There  come  the  jingling  of  a  team, 
A  ploughman's  voice,  a  clink  of  chain, 
Slow  hoofs,  and  harness  under  strain. 
Up  the  slow  slope  a  team  came  bowing, 
Old  Callow  at  his  autumn  ploughing, 
Old  Callow,  stooped  above  the  hales, 
Ploughing  the  stubble  into  wales. 
His  grave  eyes  looking  straight  ahead, 
Shearing  a  long  straight  furrow  red ; 
His  plough-foot  high  to  give  it  earth 
To  bring  new  food  for  men  to  birth. 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  85 

O  wet  red  swathe  of  earth  laid  bare, 
O  truth,  O  strength,  O  gleaming  share, 
O  patient  eyes  that  watch  the  goal, 
O  ploughman  of  the  sinner's  soul. 

0  Jesus,  drive  the  coulter  deep 

To  plough  my  living  man  from  sleep. 

Slow  up  the  hill  the  plough  team  plod, 

Old  Callow  at  the  task  of  God, 

Helped  by  man's  wit,  helped  by  the  brute, 

Turning  a  stubborn  clay  to  fruit, 

His  eyes  forever  on  some  sign 

To  help  him  plough  a  perfect  line. 

At  top  of  rise  the  plough  team  stopped, 

The  fore-horse  bent  his  head  and  cropped. 

Then  the  chains  chack,  the  brasses  jingle, 

The  lean  reins  gather  through  the  cringle, 

The  figures  move  against  the  sky, 

The  clay  wave  breaks  as  they  go  by. 

1  kneeled  there  in  the  muddy  fallow, 


86  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

I  knew  that  Christ  was  there  with  Callow, 
That  Christ  was  standing  there  with  me, 
That  Christ  had  taught  me  what  to  be, 
That  I  should  plough,  and  as  I  ploughed 
My  Saviour  Christ  would  sing  aloud, 
And  as  I  drove  the  clods  apart 
Christ  would  be  ploughing  in  my  heart, 
Through  rest-harrow  and  bitter  roots, 
Through  all  my  bad  life's  rotten  fruits. 

O  Christ  who  holds  the  open  gate, 

O  Christ  who  drives  the  furrow  straight, 

O  Christ,  the  plough,  O  Christ,  the  laughter 

Of  holy  white  birds  flying  after, 

Lo,  all  my  heart's  field  red  and  torn, 

And  Thou  wilt  bring  the  young  green  corn, 

The  young  green  corn  divinely  springing, 

The  young  green  corn  forever  singing ; 

And  when  the  field  is  fresh  and  fair 

Thy  blessed  feet  shall  glitter  there, 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  87 

And  we  will  walk  the  weeded  field, 
And  tell  the  golden  harvest's  yield, 
The  corn  that  makes  the  holy  bread 
By  which  the  soul  of  man  is  fed, 
The  holy  bread,  the  food  unpriced, 
Thy  everlasting  mercy,  Christ. 

The  share  will  jar  on  many  a  stone, 
Thou  wilt  not  let  me  stand  alone ; 
And  I  shall  feel  (thou  wilt  not  fail), 
Thy  hand  on  mine  upon  the  hale. 
Near  Bullen  Bank,  on  Gloucester  Road, 
Thy  everlasting  mercy  showed 
The  ploughman  patient  on  the  hill 
Forever  there,  forever  still, 
Ploughing  the  hill  with  steady  yoke 
Of  pine-trees  lightning-struck  and  broke. 
I've  marked  the  May  Hill  ploughman  stay 
There  on  his  hill,  day  after  day 
Driving  his  team  against  the  sky, 


88  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

While  men  and  women  live  and  die. 

And  now  and  then  he  seems  to  stoop 

To  clear  the  coulter  with  the  scoop, 

Or  touch  an  ox  to  haw  or  gee 

While  Severn  stream  goes  out  to  sea. 

The  sea  with  all  her  ships  and  sails, 

And  that  great  smoky  port  in  Wales, 

And  Gloucester  tower  bright  i'  the  sun, 

All  know  that  patient  wandering  one. 

And  sometimes  when  they  burn  the  leaves 

The  bonfires'  smoking  trails  and  heaves, 

And  girt  red  flames  twink  and  twire 

As  though  he  ploughed  the  hill  afire. 

And  in  men's  hearts  in  many  lands 

A  spiritual  ploughman  stands 

Forever  waiting,  waiting  now, 

The  heart's  "Put  in,  man,  zook  the  plough." 

By  this  the  sun  was  all  one  glitter, 
The  little  birds  were  all  in  twitter ; 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  89 

Out  of  a  tuft  a  little  lark 
Went  higher  up  than  I  could  mark, 
His  little  throat  was  all  one  thirst 
To  sing  until  his  heart  should  burst 
To  sing  aloft  in  golden  light 
His  song  from  blue  air  out  of  sight. 
The  mist  drove  by,  and  now  the  cows 
Came  plodding  up  to  milking  house. 
Followed  by  Frank,  the  Callows'  cowman, 
Who  whistled  "  Adam  was  a  ploughman." 
There  come  such  cawing  from  the  rooks, 
Such  running  chuck  from  little  brooks, 
One  thought  it  March,  just  budding  green, 
With  hedgerows  full  of  celandine. 
An  otter  'out  of  stream  and  played, 
Two  hares  come  loping  up  and  stayed ; 
Wide-eyed  and  tender-eared  but  bold. 
Sheep  bleated  up  by  Penny's  fold. 
I  heard  a  partridge  covey  call, 
The  morning  sun  was  bright  on  all. 


90  THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY 

Down  the  long  slope  the  plough  team  drove 
The  tossing  rooks  arose  and  hove. 
A  stone  struck  on  the  share.     A  word 
Came  to  the  team.     The  red  earth  stirred. 

I  crossed  the  hedge  by  shooter's  gap, 
I  hitched  my  boxer's  belt  a  strap, 
I  jumped  the  ditch  and  crossed  the  fallow : 
I  took  the  hales  from  farmer  Callow. 


How  swift  the  summer  goes, 
Forget-me-not,  pink,  rose. 
The  young  grass  when  I  started 
And  now  the  hay  is  carted, 
And  now  my  song  is  ended, 
And  all  the  summer  spended ; 
The  blackbird's  second  brood 
Routs  beech  leaves  in  the  wood ; 
The  pink  and  rose  have  speeded, 
Forget-me-not  has  seeded. 


THE  EVERLASTING  MERCY  91 

Only  the  winds  that  blew, 
The  rain  that  makes  things  new, 
The  earth  that  hides  things  old, 
And  blessings  manifold. 

O  lovely  lily  clean, 
O  lily  springing  green, 
O  lily  bursting  white, 
Dear  lily  of  delight, 
Spring  in  my  heart  agen 
That  I  may  flower  to  men. 

Great  Hampden.  June,  1911. 


NOTE 

"The  Everlasting  Mercy"  first  appeared 
in  The  English  Review  for  October,  1911.  I 
thank  the  Editor  and  Proprietors  of  that 
paper  for  permitting  me  to  reprint  it  here. 
The  persons  and  events  described  in  the  poem 
are  entirely  imaginary,  and  no  reference  is 
made  or  intended  to  any  living  person. 

John  Masefield. 


92 


THE   WIDOW   IN   THE   BYE 
STREET1 

PART   I 

Down  Bye  Street,  in  a  little  Shropshire  town, 
There  lived  a  widow  with  her  only  son : 
She  had  no  wealth  nor  title  to  renown, 
Nor  any  joyous  hours,  never  one. 
She  rose  from  ragged  mattress  before  sun 
And  stitched  all  day  until  her  eyes  were  red, 
And  had  to  stitch,  because  her  man  was  dead. 

Sometimes  she  fell  asleep,  she  stitched  so  hard, 
Letting  the  linen  fall  upon  the  floor ; 
And  hungry  cats  would  steal  in  from  the  yard, 
And  mangy  chickens  pecked  about  the  door, 

1  Copyright  in  the  United  Kingdom  and  U.  S.  A., 
1912. 

93 


94  THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

Craning  their  necks  so  ragged  and  so  sore 
To  search  the  room  for  bread-crumbs,  or  for 

mouse, 
But  they  got  nothing  in  the  widow's  house. 

Mostly  she  made  her  bread  by    hemming 

shrouds 
For  one  rich  undertaker  in  the  High  Street, 
Who  used  to  pray  that  folks  might   die  in 

crowds 
And  that  their  friends  might  pay  to  let  them 

lie  sweet ; 
And  when  one  died  the  widow  in  the  Bye 

Street 
Stitched  night  and  day  to  give  the  worm  his 

dole. 
The  dead  were  better  dressed  than  that  poor 

soul. 

Her  little  son  was  all  her  life's  delight, 
For  in  his  little  features  she  could  find 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET         95 

A  glimpse  of  that  dead  husband  out  of  sight, 
Where  out  of  sight  is  never  out  of  mind. 
And  so  she  stitched  till  she  was  nearly  blind, 
Or  till  the  tallow  candle  end  was  done, 
To  get  a  living  for  her  little  son. 

Her  love  for  him  being  such  she  would  not 

rest, 
It  was  a  want  which  ate  her  out  and  in, 
Another  hunger  in  her  withered  breast 
Pressing  her  woman's  bones  against  the  skin. 
To  make  him  plump  she  starved  her  body 

thin. 
And  he,  he  ate  the  food,  and  never  knew, 
He  laughed  and  played  as  little  children  do. 

When  there  was  little  sickness  in  the  place 
She  took  what  God  would  send,  and  what 

God  sent 
Never  brought  any  colour  to  her  face 


96  THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

Nor  life  into  her  footsteps  when  she  went. 
Going,  she  trembled    always  withered  and 

bent, 
For  all  went  to  her  son,  always  the  same, 
He  was  first  served  whatever  blessing  came. 

Sometimes  she  wandered  out  to  gather  sticks, 
For  it  was  bitter  cold  there  when  it  snowed. 
And  she  stole  hay  out  of  the  farmer's  ricks 
For  bands  to  wrap  her  feet  in  while  she  sewed, 
And  when  her  feet  were  warm  and  the  grate 

glowed 
She  hugged  her  little  son,  her  heart's  desire, 
With  "  Jimmy,  ain't  it  snug  beside  the  fire  ?" 

So  years  went  on  till  Jimmy  was  a  lad 
And  went  to  work  as  poor  lads  have  to  do, 
And  then  the  widow's  loving  heart  was  glad 
To  know  that  all  the  pains  she   had  gone 
through, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET  97 

And  all  the  years  of  putting  on  the  screw, 
Down  to  the  sharpest  turn  a  mortal  can, 
Had  borne  their  fruit,  and  made  her  child  a 
man. 

He  got  a  job  at  working  on  the  line, 
Tipping  the  earth  down,  trolly  after  truck, 
From  daylight  till  the  evening,  wet  or  fine, 
With  arms  all  red  from  wallowing  in  the  muck, 
And  spitting,  as  the  trolly  tipped,  for  luck, 
And  singing  "Binger"  as  he  swung  the  pick, 
Because  the  red  blood  ran  in  him  so  quick. 

So  there  was  bacon  then,  at  night,  for  supper 
In  Bye  Street  there,  where  he  and  mother 

stay; 
And  boots  they  had,  not  leaky  in  the  upper, 
And  room  rent  ready  on  the  settling  day ; 
And  beer  for  poor  old  mother,  worn  and  grey, 
And  fire  in  frost ;  and  in  the  widow's  eyes 
It  seemed  the  Lord  had  made  earth  paradise. 


98  THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

And  there  they  sat  of  evenings  after  dark 
Singing  their  song  of  "Binger,"  he  and  she, 
Her  poor  old  cackle  made  the  mongrels  bark 
And  "You  sing  Binger,  mother,"  carols  he; 
"By  crimes,  but  that's  a  good  song,  that  her 

be:" 
And  then  they  slept  there  in  the  room  they 

shared, 
And  all  the  time  fate  had  his  end  prepared. 

One  thing  alone  made  life  not  perfect  sweet : 
The  mother's  daily  fear  of  what  would  come 
When  woman  and  her  lovely  boy  should 

meet, 
When  the  new  wife  would  break  up  the  old 

home. 
Fear  of  that  unborn  evil  struck  her  dumb, 
And  when  her  darling  and  a  woman  met, 
She  shook  and  prayed,  "Not  her,  O  God ;  not 

yet." 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET  99 

"Not  yet,  dear  God,  my  Jimmy  took  from 


me." 


Then  she  would  subtly  question  with  her  son. 
"Not  very  handsome,  I  don't  think  her  be  ?" 
"God  help  the  man  who  marries  such  an  one." 
Her  red  eyes  peered  to  spy  the  mischief  done. 
She  took  great  care  to  keep  the  girls  away, 
And  all  her  trouble  made  him  easier  prey. 

There  was  a  woman  out  at  Plaister's  End, 
Light  of  her  body,  fifty  to  the  pound, 
A  copper  coin  for  any  man  to  spend, 
Lovely   to   look   on   when   the   wits    were 

drowned. 
Her  husband's  skeleton  was  never  found, 
It  lay  among  the  rocks  at  Glydyr  Mor 
Where  he  drank  poison  finding  her  a  whore. 

She  was  not  native  there,  for  she  belonged 
Out  Milf ord  way,  or  Swansea ;  no  one  knew. 


100        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

She  had  the  piteous  look  of  someone  wronged, 
"Anna,"  her  name,  a  widow,  last  of  Triw. 
She  had  lived  at  Plaister's  End  a  year  or  two ; 
At  Callow's  cottage,  renting  half  an  acre ; 
She  was  a  hen-wife  and  a  perfume-maker. 

Secret  she  was ;  she  lived  in  reputation ; 
But  secret  unseen  threads  went  floating  out : 
Her  smile,  her  voice,  her  face,  were  all  temp- 
tation, 
All  subtle  flies  to  trouble  man  the  trout ; 
Man  to  entice,  entrap,  entangle,  flout  .  .  . 
To  take  and  spoil,  and  then  to  cast  aside : 
Gain  without  giving  was  the  craft  she  plied. 

And  she  complained,  poor  lonely   widowed 

soul, 
How  no  one  cared,  and  men  were  rutters  all ; 
While  true  love  is  an  ever  burning  goal 
Burning  the  brighter  as  the  shadows  fall. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       101 

And  all  love's  dogs  went  hunting  at  the  call, 
Married  or  not  she  took  them  by  the  brain, 
Sucked  at  their  hearts  and  tossed  them  back 
again. 

Like  the  straw  fires  lit  on  Saint  John's  Eve, 
She  burned  and  dwindled  in  her  fickle  heart ; 
For  if  she  wept  when  Harry  took  his  leave, 
Her  tears  were  lures  to  beckon  Bob  to  start. 
And  if,  while  loving  Bob,  a  tinker's  cart 
Came  by,  she  opened  window  with  a  smile 
And  gave  the  tinker  hints  to  wait  a  while. 

She  passed  for  pure;   but,  years  before,  in 

Wales, 
Living  at  Mountain  Ash  with  different  men, 
Her  less  discretion  had  inspired  tales 
Of  certain  things  she  did,  and  how,  and  when. 
Those  seven  years  of  youth ;  we  are  frantic 

then. 


102        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

She  had  been  frantic  in  her  years  of  youth, 
The  tales  were  not  more  evil  than  the  truth. 

She  had  two  children  as  the  fruits  of  trade, 
Though  she  drank  bitter  herbs  to  kill    the 

curse, 
Both  of  them  sons,  and  one  she  overlaid, 
The  other  one  the  parish  had  to  nurse. 
Now  she  grew  plump  with  money  in  her  purse, 
Passing  for  pure  a  hundred  miles,  I  guess, 
From  where   her  little  son  wore  workhouse 

dress. 

There  with  the  Union  boys  he  came  and  went, 
A  parish  bastard  fed  on  bread  and  tea, 
Wearing  a  bright  tin  badge  in  furthest  Gwent, 
And  no  one  knowing  who  his  folk  could  be. 
His  mother  never  knew  his  new  name :  she,  — 
She  touched  the  lust  of  those  who  served  her 

turn, 
And  chief  among  her  men  was  Shepherd  Ern. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  8TBEET       103 

A  moody,  treacherous  man  of  bawdy  mind, 

Married  to  that  mild  girl  from  Ercall  Hill, 

i 
Whose  gentle  goodness  made  him  more  in- 
clined 
To  hotter  sauces  sharper  on  the  bill. 
The  new  lust  gives  the  lecher  the  new  thrill, 
The  new  wine  scratches  as  it  slips  the  throat, 
The  new  flag  is  so  bright  by  the  old  boat. 

Ern  was  her  man  to  buy  her  bread  and  meat, 
Half  of  his  weekly  wage  was  hers  to  spend, 
She  used  to  mock,  "How  is  your  wife,  my 

sweet  ?" 
Or  wail,  "O,  Ernie,  how  is  this  to  end  ?" 
Or  coo,  "My  Ernie  is  without  a  friend, 
She  cannot  understand  my  precious  life," 
And  Ernie  would  go  home  and  beat  his  wife. 

So  the  four  souls  are  ranged,  the  chess-board 


104         THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

The  dark,  invisible  hand  of  secret  Fate 
Brought  it  to  come  to  being  that  they  met 
After  so  many  years  of  lying  in  wait. 
While  we  least  think  it  he  prepares  his  Mate. 
Mate,  and  the  King's  pawn  played,  it  never 

ceases 
Though  all  the  earth  is  dust  of  taken  pieces. 

PART   II 

October  Fair-time  is  the  time  for  fun, 
For  all  the  street  is  hurdled  into  rows 
Of  pens  of  heifers  blinking  at  the  sun, 
And  Lemster  sheep  which  pant  and  seem  to 

doze, 
And  stalls  of  hardbake  and  galanty  shows, 
And  cheap  jacks  smashing  crocks,  and  trum- 
pets blowing, 
And  the  loud  organ  of  the  horses  going. 

There  you  can  buy  blue  ribbons  for  your  girl 
Or  take  her  in  a  swing-boat  tossing  high, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       10£ 

Or  hold  her  fast  when  all  the  horses  whirl 
Round  to  the  steam  pipe  whanging  at  the  sky; 
Or  stand  her  cockshies  at  the  cocoa-shy, 
Or  buy  her  brooches  with  her  name  in  red, 
Or  Queen  Victoria  done  in  gingerbread. 

Then  there  are  rifle  shots  at  tossing  balls, 

"And  if  you  hit  you  get  a  good  cigar," 

And  strength- whackers  for  lads  to  lamm  with 

mauls, 
And  Cheshire  cheeses  on  a  greasy  spar. 
The  country  folk  flock  in  from  near  and  far, 
Women  and  men,  like  blowflies  to  the  roast, 
All  love  the  fair ;  but  Anna  loved  it  most. 

Anna  was  all  agog  to  see  the  fair ; 
She  made  Ern  promise  to  be  there  to  meet  her, 
To  arm  her  round  to  all  the  pleasures  there, 
And  buy  her  ribbons  for  her  neck,  and  treat 

her, 
So  that  no  woman  at  the  fair  should  beat  her 


106         THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

In  having  pleasure  at  a  man's  expense. 

She  planned  to  meet  him  at  the  chapel  fence. 

So  Ernie  went ;  and  Jimmy  took  his  mother, 
Dressed  in  her  finest  with  a  Monmouth  shawl, 
And  there  was  such  a  crowd  she  thought  she'd 

smother, 
And  O,  she  loved  a  pep'mint  above  all. 
Clash  go  the  crockeries  where  the  cheapjacks 

bawl, 
Baa  go  the  sheep,  thud  goes  the  waxwork's 

drum, 
And  Ernie  cursed  for  Anna  hadn't  come. 

He  hunted  for  her  up  and  down  the  place, 
Raging  and  snapping  like  a  working  brew. 
11  If  you're  with  someone  else  I'll  smash  his  face, 
And  when  I've  done  for  him  I'll  go  for  you." 
He  bought  no  fairings  as  he'd  vowed  to  do 
For  his  poor  little  children  back  at  home 
Stuck  at  the  glass  "to  see  till  father  come." 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       107 

Not  finding  her,  he  went  into  an  inn, 
Busy  with  ringing  till  and  scratching  matches. 
Where  thirsty  drovers  mingled  stout  with  gin 
And  three  or  four  Welsh  herds  were  singing 

catches. 
The    swing-doors    clattered,    letting   in    in 

snatches 
The  noises  of  the  fair,  now  low,  now  loud. 
Ern  called  for  beer  and  glowered  at  the  crowd. 

While  he  was  glowering  at  his  drinking  there, 
In  came  the  gipsy  Bessie,  hawking  toys ; 
A  bold-eyed  strapping  harlot  with  black  hair, 
One  of  the  tribe  which  camped  at  Shepherd's 

Bois. 
She  lured  him  out  of  inn  into  the  noise 
Of  the  steam-organ  where  the  horses  spun, 
And  so  the  end  of  all  things  was  begun. 

Newness  in  lust,  always  the  old  in  love. 

"  Put  up  your  toys,"  he  said,  "  and  come  along, 


108        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

We'll  have  a  turn  of  swing  boats  up  above, 
And  see  the  murder  when  they  strike  the 


gong." 


"Don't  'ee,"  she  giggled.     "My,  but  ain't 

you  strong. 
And  where's  your  proper  girl?    You  don't 

know  me." 
"I  do."    "You  don't."    "Why,  then,  I  will," 

said  he. 

Anna  was  late  because  the  cart  which  drove 

her 
Called  for  her  late  (the  horse  had  broke   a 

trace), 
She  was  all  dressed  and  scented  for  her  lover, 
Her  bright  blue  blouse  had  imitation  lace, 
The  paint  was  red  as  roses  on  her  face, 
She  hummed  a  song,  because  she  thought  to 

see 
How  envious  all  the  other  girls  would  be. 


THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       109 

When  she  arrived  and  found  her  Ernie  gone, 
Her  bitter  heart  thought,  "This  is  how  it  is. 
Keeping  me  waiting  while  the  sports  are  on : 
Promising  faithful,  too,  and  then  to  miss. 
O,  Ernie,  won't  I  give  it  you  for  this." 
And  looking  up  she  saw  a  couple  cling, 
Ern  with  his  arm  round  Bessie  in  the  swing. 

Ern  caught  her  eye  and  spat,  and  cut  her  dead, 
Bessie  laughed  hardly,  in  the  gipsy  way. 
Anna,  though  blind  with  fury,  tossed  her  head, 
Biting  her  lips  until  the  red  was  grey, 
For  bitter  moments  given,  bitter  pay, 
The  time  for  payment  comes,  early  or  late, 
No  earthly  debtor  but  accounts  to  Fate. 

She  turned  aside,  telling  with  bitter  oaths 
What  Ern  should  suffer  if  he  turned  agen, 
And  there  was  Jimmy  stripping  off  his  clothes 
Within  a  little  ring  of  farming  men. 


110        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

"Now,  Jimmy,  put  the  old  tup  into  pen." 
His  mother,   watching,   thought  her  heart 

would  curdle, 
To  see  Jim  drag  the  old  ram  to  the  hurdle. 

Then  the  ram  butted  and  the  game  began, 
Till  Jimmy's  muscles  cracked  and  the  ram 

grunted. 
The  good  old  wrestling  game  of  Ram  and 

Man, 
At  which  none  knows  the  hunter  from  the 

hunted. 
"Come    and    see    Jimmy    have    his    belly 

bunted." 
"Good    tup.      Good  Jim.     Good    Jimmy. 

Sick  him,  Rover, 
By  dang,  but  Jimmy's  got  him  fairly  over." 

Then  there  was  clap  of  hands  and  Jimmy 

grinned 
And  took  five  silver  shillings  from  his  backers, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       111 

And  said  th'  old  tup  had  put  him  out  of  wind 
Or  else  he'd  take  all  comers  at  the  Whackers. 
And  some  made  rude  remarks  of  rams  and 

knackers, 
And  mother  shook  to  get  her  son  alone, 
So's  to  be  sure  he  hadn't  broke  a  bone. 

None  but  the  lucky  man  deserves  the  fair, 
For  lucky  men  have  money  and  success, 
Things  that  a  whore  is  very  glad  to  share, 
Or  dip,  at  least,  a  ringer  in  the  mess. 
Anne,  with  her  raddled  cheeks  and  Sunday 

dress, 
Smiled  upon  Jimmy,  seeing  him  succeed, 
As  though  to  say,  "You  are  a  man,  indeed." 

All  the  great  things  of  life  are  swiftly  done, 
Creation,  death,  and  love  the  double  gate. 
However  much  we  dawdle  in  the  sun 
We  have  to  hurry  at  the  touch  of  Fate ; 


112        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

When  Life  knocks  at  the  door  no  one  can 

wait, 
When  Death  makes  his  arrest  we  have  to  go. 
And  so  with  Love,  and  Jimmy  found  it  so. 

Love,  the  sharp  spear,  went  pricking  to  the 

bone, 
In  that  one  look,  desire  and  bitter  aching, 
Longing  to  have  that  woman  all  alone 
For  her  dear  beauty's  sake  all  else  forsaking ; 
And  sudden  agony  that  set  him  shaking 
Lest  she,   whose  beauty  made  his    heart's 

blood  cruddle, 
Should  be  another  man's  to  kiss  and  cuddle. 

She  was  beside  him  when  he  left  the  ring, 
Her  soft  dress  brushed  against  him  as  he 

passed  her ; 
He  thought  her  penny  scent  a  sweeter  thing 
Than  precious  ointment  out  of  alabaster ; 


THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       113 

Love,  the  mild   servant,  makes  a  drunken 

master. 
She  smiled,  half  sadly,  out  of  thoughtful  eyes, 
And  all  the  strong  young  man  was  easy  prize. 

She  spoke,  to  take  him,  seeing  him  a  sheep, 
"How  beautiful  you  wrastled  with  the  ram, 
It  made  me  all  go  tremble  just  to  peep, 
I  am  that  fond  of  wrastling,  that  I  am. 
Why,  here's  your  mother,  too.    Good  even- 
ing, ma'am. 
I  was  just  telling  Jim  how  well  he  done, 
How  proud  you  must  be  of  so  fine  a  son." 

Old  mother  blinked,   while  Jimmy  hardly 

knew 
Whether  he  knew  the  woman  there  or  not ; 
But  well  he  knew,  if  not,  he  wanted  to, 
Joy  of  her  beauty  ran  in  him  so  hot, 
Old  trembling  mother  by  him  was  forgot, 


114        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

While  Anna  searched  the  mother's  face,  to 

know 
Whether  she  took  her  for  a  whore  or  no. 

The  woman's  maxim,  "  Win  the  woman  first," 
Made  her  be  gracious  to  the  withered  thing. 
"This  being  in  crowds  do  give  one  such  a 

thirst, 
I  wonder  if  they've  tea  going  at  'The  King'  ? 
My  throat's  that  dry  my  very  tongue  do  cling, 
Perhaps  you'd  take  my  arm,  we'd  wander  up 
(If  you'd  agree)  and  try  and  get  a  cup. 

Come,  ma'am,  a  cup  of  tea  would  do  you 

good 
There's  nothing  like  a  nice  hot  cup  of  tea 
After  the  crowd  and  all  the  time  you've  stood; 
And  'The  King's'  strict,  it  isn't  like  'The 

Key/ 
Now,  take  my  arm,  my  dear,  and  lean  on 

me." 


TEE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       115 

And  Jimmy's  mother,  being  nearly  blind, 
Took  Anna's  arm,  and  only  thought  her  kind. 

So  off  they  set,  with  Anna  talking  to  her, 
How  nice  the  tea  would  be  after  the  crowd, 
And  mother  thinking  half  the  time  she  knew 

her, 
And  Jimmy's  heart's  blood  ticking  quick  and 

loud, 
And  Death  beside  him  knitting  at  his  shroud, 
And  all  the  High  Street  babbling  with  the  fair, 
And  white  October  clouds  in  the  blue  air. 

So  tea  was  made,  and  down  they  sat  to  drink ; 
O  the  pale  beauty  sitting  at  the  board 
There  is  more  death  in  women  than  we  think, 
There  is  much  danger  in  the  soul  adored, 
The  white  hands  bring  the  poison  and   the 

cord; 
Death  has  a  lodge  in  lips  as  red  as  cherries, 
Death  has  a  mansion  in  the  yew  tree  berries. 


116        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

They  sat  there  talking  after  tea  was  done, 
And  Jimmy  blushed  at  Anna's  sparkling  looks, 
And  Anna  flattered  mother  on  her  son, 
Catching  both  fishes  on  her  subtle  hooks. 
With  twilight,  tea  and  talk  in  ingle-nooks, 
And  music  coming  up  from  the  dim  street, 
Mother  had  never  known  a  fair  so  sweet. 

Now  cow-bells  clink,  for  milking-time  is  come, 
The  drovers  stack  the  hurdles  into  carts, 
New  masters  drive  the  straying  cattle  home, 
Many  a  young  calf  from  his  mother  parts, 
Hogs  straggle  back  to  sty  by  fits  and  starts  ; 
The  farmers  take  a  last  glass  at  the  inns, 
And  now  the  frolic  of  the  fair  begins. 

All  of  the  side  shows  of  the  fair  are  lighted, 
Flares  and  bright  lights,  and  brassy  cymbals 

clanging, 
" Beginning  now"  and  "Everyone's  invited," 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       117 

Shatter  the  pauses  of  the  organ's  whanging, 
The  Oldest  Show  on  Earth  and  the  Last 

Hanging, 
"The  Murder  in  the  Red  Barn,"  with  real 

blood, 
The  rifles  crack,  the  Sally  shy-sticks  thud. 

Anna  walked  slowly  homewards  with  her 

prey, 
Holding  old  tottering  mother's  weight  upon 

her, 
And  pouring  in  sweet  poison  on  the  way 
Of  "Such  a  pleasure,  ma'am,  and  such  an 

honour," 
And  "One's  so  safe  with  such  a  son  to  con  her 
Through  all  the  noises  and  through  all  the 

press, 
Boys  daredn't  squirt  tormenters  on  her  dress." 

At  mother's  door  they  stop  to  say  "Good- 
night." 


118        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

And  mother  must  go  in  to  set  the  table. 
Anna  pretended  that  she  felt  a  fright 
To  go  alone  through  all  the  merry  babel : 
"My  friends  are  waiting  at  'The  Cain  and 

Abel/ 
Just  down  the  other  side  of  Market  Square, 
It'd  be  a  mercy  if  you'd  set  me  there. " 

So  Jimmy  came,  while  mother  went  inside ; 
Anna  has  got  her  victim  in  her  clutch. 
Jimmy,  all  blushing,  glad  to  be  her  guide, 
Thrilled  by  her  scent,  and  trembling  at  her 

touch. 
She  was  all  white  and  dark,  and  said  not  much ; 
She  sighed,  to  hint  that  pleasure's  grave  was 

dug, 
And  smiled  within  to  see  him  such  a  mug. 

They  passed  the  doctor's  house  among  the 

trees, 
She  sighed  so  deep  that  Jimmy  asked  her  why. 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       119 

"I'm  too  unhappy  upon  nights  like  these, 
When  evoryone  has  happiness  but  I !" 
"Then,  aren't  you  happy  ?"     She  appeared 

to  cry, 
Blinked  with  her  eyes,  and  turned  away  her 

head  : 
"Not  much;    but  some  men  understand/' 

she  said. 

Her  voice  caught  lightly  on  a  broken  note, 
Jimmy  half-dared  but  dared  not  touch  her 

hand, 
Yet  all  his  blood  went  pumping  in  his  throat 
Beside  the  beauty  he  could  understand, 
And  Death  stopped  knitting  at  the  muffling 

band. 
"The  shroud  is  done/'  he  muttered,  "toe  to 

chin." 
He  snapped  the  ends,  and  tucked  his  needles 

in. 


120        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

Jimmy,  half  stammering,  choked,  "Has  any 

man " 

He  stopped,  she  shook  her  head  to  answer 

"No." 
"Then  tell  me."    "No.    P'raps  some  day, 

if  I  can. 
It  hurts  to  talk  of  some  things  ever  so. 
But  you're  so  different.    There,  come,  we 

must  go. 
None  but  unhappy  women  know  how  good 
It  is  to  meet  a  soul  who's  understood." 
"No.    Wait  a  moment.    May  I  call   you 

Anna?" 

"Perhaps.    There  must  be  nearness  'twixt 

us  two." 
Love  in  her  face  hung  out  his  bloody  banner, 
And  all  love's  clanging  trumpets  shocked  and 

blew 
"When  we  got  up  to-day  we  never  knew." 


THE    WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       121 

"I'm  sure  I  didn't  think,  nor  you  did." 
"Never." 

"And  now  this  friendship's  come  to  us  for- 
ever." 

"Now,  Anna,  take  my  arm,  dear."    "Not 

to-night, 
That  must  come  later  when  we  know  our 

minds, 
We  must  agree  to  keep  this  evening  white, 
We'll  eat  the  fruit  to-night  and  save    the 

rinds." 
And  all  the  folk  whose  shadows  darked  the 

blinds, 
And  all  the  dancers  whirling  in  the  fair, 
Were  wretched   worms  to  Jim  and  Anna 

there. 

"How  wonderful  life  is,"  said  Anna,  lowly. 
"But  it  begins  again  with  you  for  friend." 


122        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

In  the  dim  lamplight  Jimmy  thought  her  holy, 
A  lovely  fragile  thing  for  him  to  tend, 
Grace  beyond  measure,  beauty  without  end. 
"  Anna,"  he  said ;  "  Good-night.     This  is  the 

door. 
I  never  knew  what  people  meant  before." 

"Good-night,  my  friend.  Good-bye."  "But 
oh,  my  sweet, 

The  night's  quite  early  yet,  don't  say  good- 
bye, 

Come  just  another  short  turn  down  the  street, 

The  whole  life's  bubbling  up  for  you  and  I. 

Somehow  I  feel  to-morrow  we  may  die. 

Come  just  as  far  as  to  the  blacksmith's  light." 

But  "No,"  said  Anna;  "not  to-night.  Good- 
night." 

All  the  tides  triumph  when  the  white  moon 
fills. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       123 

Down  in  the  race  the  toppling  waters  shout, 
The  breakers  shake  the  bases  of  the  hills, 
There  is  a  thundering  where  the  streams  go 

out, 
And  the  wise  shipman  puts  his  ship  about 
Seeing  the  gathering  of  those  waters  wan, 
But  what  when  love  makes  high  tide  in  a 

man? 

Jimmy  walked  home  with  all  his  mind  on 

fire, 
One  lovely  face  forever  set  in  flame. 
He  shivered  as  he  went,  like  tautened  wire, 
Surge  after  surge  of  shuddering  in  him  came 
And  then  swept  out  repeating  one  sweet  name 
"  Anna,  oh  Anna,"  to  the  evening  star. 
Anna  was  sipping  whiskey  in  the  bar. 

So  back  to  home  and  mother  Jimmy  wan- 
dered, 


124        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

Thinking  of  Plaister's  End  and  Anna's  lips. 
He  ate  no  supper  worth  the  name,  but  pon- 
dered 
On  Plaister's  End  hedge,  scarlet  with  ripe  hips, 
And  of  the  lovely  moon  there  in  eclipse, 
And  how  she  must  be  shining  in  the  house 
Behind  the  hedge  of  those  old  dog-rose  boughs. 

Old  mother  cleared  away.     The  clock  struck 

eight. 
"Why,  boy,  you've  left  your  bacon,  lawks  a 

me, 
So  that's  what  comes  of  having  tea  so  late, 
Another  time  you'll  go  without  your  tea. 
Your  father  liked  his  cup,  too,  didn't  he, 
Always  '  another  cup '  he  used  to  say, 
He  never  went  without  on  any  day. 

How  nice  the  lady  was  and  how  she  talked, 
I've  never  had  a  nicer  fair,  not  ever." 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       125 

"She  said  she'd  like  to  see  us  if  we  walked 
To  Plaister's  End,  beyond  by  Watersever. 
Nice-looking   woman,    too,    and   that,    and 

clever ; 
We  might  go  round  one  evening,  p'raps,  we 

two; 
Or  I  might  go,  if  it's  too  far  for  you." 

"No,"  said  the  mother,  "we're  not  folk  for 

that; 
Meet  at  the  fair  and  that,  and  there  an  end. 
Rake  out  the  fire  and  put  out  the  cat, 
These  fairs  are  sinful,  tempting  folk  to  spend. 
Of  course  she  spoke  polite  and  like  a  friend ; 
Of  course  she  had  to  do,  and  so  I  let  her, 
But  now  it's  done  and  past,  so  I  forget  her." 

"I  don't  see  why  forget  her.    Why  forget 

her? 
She  treat  us  kind.     She  weren't  like  everyone. 


126        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

I  never  saw  a  woman  I  liked  better, 

And  he's  not  easy  pleased,  my  father's  son. 

So  I'll  go  round  some  night  when  work  is 

done." 
"Now,  Jim,  my  dear,  trust  mother,  there's 

a  dear." 
"Well,  so  I  do,  but  sometimes  you're  so 

queer." 

She  blinked  at  him  out  of  her  withered  eyes 
Below  her  lashless  eyelids  red  and  bleared. 
Her  months  of  sacrifice  had  won  the  prize, 
Her  Jim  had  come  to  what  she  always  feared. 
And  yet  she  doubted,  so  she  shook  and  peered 
And  begged  her  God  not  let  a  woman  take 
The  lovely  son  whom  she  had  starved  to 
make. 

Doubting,  she  stood  the  dishes  in  the  rack, 
"We'll  ask  her  in  some  evening,  then,"  she 
said, 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       127 

"How  nice  her  hair  looked  in  the  bit    of 

black." 
And  still  she  peered  from  eyes  all  dim  and 

red 
To  note  at  once  if  Jimmy  drooped  his  head, 
Or  if  his  ears  blushed  when  he  heard   her 

praised, 
And  Jimmy  blushed  and  hung  his  head  and 

gazed. 

"This  is  the  end,"  she  thought.     "This  is 

the  end. 
I'll  have  to  sew  again  for  Mr.  Jones, 
Do  hems  when  I  can  hardly  see  to  mend, 
And  have  the  old  ache  in  my  marrow  bones. 
And  when  his  wife's  in  child-bed,  when  she 

groans, 
She'll   send   for  me   until   the   pains   have 

ceased, 
And  give  me  leavings  at  the  christening  feast. 


128        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

And  sit  aslant  to  eye  me  as  I  eat, 
1  You're  only  wanted  here,  ma'am,  for  to-day, 
Just  for  the  christ'ning  party,  for  the  treat, 
Don't  ever  think  I  mean  to  let  you  stay ; 
Two's  company,  three's  none,  that's  what  I 

say.' 
Life  can  be  bitter  to  the  very  bone 
When  one  is  poor,  and  woman,  and  alone." 

" Jimmy,"  she  said,  still  doubting.   "Gome, 

my  dear, 
Let's  have  our  'Binger,'  'fore  we  go  to  bed." 
And  then  "The  parson's  dog,"  she  cackled 

clear, 
"Lep  over  stile,"  she  sang,  nodding  her  head. 
"His  name  was  little  Binger."     "Jim,"  she 

said, 
"Binger,  now,  chorus"  .  .  .    Jimmy  kicked 

the  hob, 
The  sacrament  of  song  died  in  a  sob. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       129 

Jimmy  went  out  into  the  night  to  think 
Under  the  moon  so  steady  in  the  blue. 
The  woman's  beauty  ran  in  him  like  drink, 
The  fear  that  men  had  loved  her  burnt  him 

through ; 
The  fear  that  even  then  another  knew 
All  the  deep  mystery  which  women  make 
To  hide  the  inner  nothing  made  him  shake. 

"Anna,  I  love  you,  and  I  always  shall." 
He  looked  towards  Plaister's  End  beyond 

Cot  Hills. 
A  white  star  glimmered  in  the  long  canal, 
A  droning  from  the  music  came  in  thrills. 
Love  is  a  flame  to  burn  out  human  wills, 
Love  is  a  flame  to  set  the  will  on  fire, 
Love  is  a  flame  to  cheat  men  into  mire, 

One  of  the  three,  we  make  Love  what  we 
choose. 


130        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

But  Jimmy  did  not  know,  he  only  thought 
That  Anna  was  too  beautiful  to  lose, 
That  she  was  all  the  world  and  he  was  naught, 
That  it  was  sweet,  though  bitter,  to  be  caught. 
"Anna,  I  love  you."    Underneath  the  moon, 
"I  shall  go  mad  unless  I  see  you  soon." 

The  fair's  lights  threw  aloft  a  misty  glow. 
The  organ  whangs,  the  giddy  horses  reel, 
The  rifles  cease,  the  folk  begin  to  go, 
The  hands  unclamp  the  swing  boats  from  the 

wheel, 
There  is  a  smell  of  trodden  orange  peel ; 
The  organ  drones  and  dies,  the  horses  stop, 
And  then  the  tent  collapses  from  the  top. 

The  fair  is  over,  let  the  people  troop, 

The  drunkards  stagger  homewards  down  the 

gutters, 
The  showmen  heave  in  an  excited  group, 


THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       131 

The  poles  tilt  slowly  down,  the  canvas  flutters, 
The  mauls  knock  out  the  pins,  the  last  flare 

sputters. 
"Lower   away."       "Go   easy."       "Lower, 

lower." 
"  You've  dang  near  knock  my  skull  in.  Loose 

it  slower." 

' '  Back  in  the  horses. "     "  Are  the  swing  boats 

loaded?" 
"All   right   to   start."     "Bill,   where's   the 

cushion  gone  ? 
The  red  one  for  the  Queen?"    "I  think  I 

stowed  it." 
"You  think,  you  think.     Lord,  where's  that 

cushion,  John  ?  " 
"It's  in  that  ditty  box  you're  sitting  on, 
What   more   d'you   want?"    A   concertina 

plays 
Far  off  as  wandering  lovers  go  their  ways. 


132        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

Up  the  dim  Bye  Street  to  the  market-place 
The  dead  bones  of  the  fair  are  borne  in  carts, 
Horses  and  swing  boats  at  a  funeral  pace 
After  triumphant  hours  quickening  hearts ; 
A  policeman  eyes  each  waggon  as  it  starts, 
The  drowsy  showmen  stumble  half  asleep, 
One  of  them  catcalls,  having  drunken  deep. 

So  out,  over  the  pass,  into  the  plain, 

And  the  dawn  finds  them  filling  empty  cans 

In  some  sweet-smelling  dusty  country  lane, 

Where  a  brook  chatters  over  rusty  pans. 

The  iron  chimneys  of  the  caravans 

Smoke  as  they  go.    And  now  the  fair  has 

gone 
To  find  a  new  pitch  somewhere  further  on. 

But  as  the  fair  moved  out  two  lovers  came, 
Ernie  and  Bessie  loitering  out  together ; 
Bessie  with  wild  eyes,  hungry  as  a  flame, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       133 

Era  like  a  stallion  tugging  at  a  tether. 
It  was  calm  moonlight,  and  October  weather, 
So  still,  so  lovely,  as  they  topped  the  ridge. 
They  brushed  by  Jimmy  standing  on  the 
bridge. 

And,  as  they  passed,  they  gravely  eyed  each 
other, 

And  the  blood  burned  in  each  heart  beating 
there ; 

And  out  into  the  Bye  Street  tottered  mother, 

Without  her  shawl,  in  the  October  air. 

"Jimmy,"  she  cried,  "Jimmy."  And  Bes- 
sie's hair 

Drooped  on  the  instant  over  Ernie's  face, 

And  the  two  lovers  clung  in  an  embrace. 

" O,  Ern."     " My  own,  my  Bessie."    As  they 

kissed 
Jimmy  was  envious  of  the  thing  unknown. 


134        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

So  this  was  Love,  the  something  he  had 

missed, 
Woman  and  man  athirst,  aflame,  alone. 
Envy  went  knocking  at  his  marrow-bone, 
And  Anna's  face  swam  up  so  dim,  so  fair, 
Shining  and  sweet,  with  poppies  in  her  hair. 

PART    III 

After  the  fair,  the  gang  began  again. 
Tipping  the  trolleys  down  the  banks  of  earth. 
The  truck  of  stone  clanks  on    the  endless 

chain, 
A  clever  pony  guides  it  to  its  berth. 
"Let  go."     It  tips,  the  navvies  shout  for 

mirth 
To  see  the  pony  step  aside,  so  wise, 
But  Jimmy  sighed,  thinking  of  Anna's  eyes. 

And  when  he  stopped  his  shovelling  he  looked 
Over  the  junipers  towards  Plaister  way, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       135 

The  beauty  of  his  darling  had  him  hooked, 
He  had  no  heart  for  wrastling  with  the  clay. 
"0  Lord  Almighty,  I  must  get  away; 
0  Lord,  I  must.     I  must  just  see  my  flower. 
Why,  I  could  run  there  in  the  dinner  hour." 

The  whistle  on  the  pilot  engine  blew, 

The  men  knocked  off,  and  Jimmy  slipped 

aside 
Over  the  fence,  over  the  bridge,  and  through, 
And  then  ahead  along  the  water-side, 
Under  the  red-brick  rail-bridge,  arching  wide, 
Over  the  hedge,  across  the  fields,  and  on ; 
The  foreman  asked :  "  Where's  Jimmy  Gur- 

ney  gone?" 

It  is  a  mile  and  more  to  Plaister's  End, 
But  Jimmy  ran  the  short  way  by  the  stream, 
And  there  was  Anna's  cottage  at  the  bend, 
With  blue  smoke  on  the  chimney,  faint  as 
steam. 


136        THE    WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

"God,  she's  at  home,"  and  up  his  heart  a 

gleam 
Leapt  like  a  rocket  on  November  nights, 
And  shattered  slowly  in  a  burst  of  lights. 

Anna  was  singing  at  her  kitchen  fire, 
She  was  surprised,  and  not  well  pleased  to  see 
A  sweating  navvy,  red  with  heat  and  mire, 
Come  to  her  door,  whoever  he  might  be. 
But  when  she  saw  that  it  was  Jimmy,  she 
Smiled  at  his  eyes  upon  her,  full  of  pain, 
And  thought,  "But,  still,  he  mustn't  come 
again. 

People  will  talk ;  boys  are  such  crazy  things ; 
But  he's  a  dear  boy  though  he  is  so  green." 
So,  hurriedly,  she  slipped  her  apron  strings, 
And  dabbed  her  hair,  and  wiped  her  fingers 

clean, 
And  came  to  greet  him  languid  as  a  queen, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       137 

Looking  as  sweet,  as  fair,  as  pure,  as  sad, 
As  when  she  drove  her  loving  husband  mad. 

"Poor  boy,"  she  said,  "Poor  boy,  how  hot 
you  are." 

She  laid  a  cool  hand  to  his  sweating  face. 

"How  kind  to  come.  Have  you  been  run- 
ning far  ? 

I'm  just  going  out ;  come  up  the  road  a  pace. 

0  dear,  these  hens;    they're  all  about  the 

place." 
So  Jimmy  shooed  the  hens  at  her  command, 
And  got  outside  the  gate  as  she  had  planned. 

"Anna,  my  dear,  I  love  you ;  love  you,  true  ; 

1  had  to  come  —  I  don't  know —  I  can't  rest — 
I  lay  awake  all  night,  thinking  of  you. 
Many  must  love  you,  but  I  love  you  best." 
"Many  have  loved  me,  yes,  dear,"  she  con- 
fessed, 


138        THE  WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

She  smiled  upon  him  with  a  tender  pride, 
"But  my  love  ended  when  my  husband  died, 

"Still,  we'll  be  friends,  dear  friends,  dear,  ten- 
der friends ; 
Love  with  its  fever's  at  an  end  for  me. 
Be  by  me  gently  now  the  fever  ends, 
Life  is  a  lovelier  thing  than  lovers  see, 
I'd  like  to  trust  a  man,  Jimmy,"  said  she, 
"May  I  trust  you?"     "Oh,  Anna  dear,  my 

dear " 

"Don't  come  so  close,"  she  said,  "with  people 
near. 

Dear,  don't  be  vexed ;  it's  very  sweet  to  find 
One  who  will  understand ;  but  life  is  life, 
And  those  who  do  not  know  are  so  unkind. 
But  you'll  be  by  me,  Jimmy,  in  the  strife, 
I  love  you  though  I  cannot  be  your  wife ; 
And  now  be  off,  before  the  whistle  goes, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       13S 

Or  else  you'll  lose  your  quarter,  goodness 
knows." 

"  When  can  I  see  you,  Anna  ?    Tell  me,  dear. 

To-night?  To-morrow?  Shall  I  come  to- 
night?" 

"  Jimmy,  my  friend,  I  cannot  have  you  here ; 

But  when  I  come  to  town  perhaps  we  might. 

Dear,  you  must  go;  no  kissing;  you  can 
write, 

And  I'll  arrange  a  meeting  when  I  learn 

What  friends  are  doing' '  (meaning  Shepherd 
Ern). 

" Good-bye,    my    own."     "Dear    Jim,    you 

understand. 
If  we  were  only  free,  dear,  free  to  meet, 
Dear,  I  would  take  you  by  your  big,  strong 

hand 
And  kiss  your  dear  boy  eyes  so  blue  and 

sweet; 


140        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

But  my  dead  husband  lies  under  the  sheet, 
Dead  in  my  heart,  dear,  lovely,  lonely  one, 
So,  Jim,  my  dear,  my  loving  days  are  done. 

But  though  my  heart  is  buried  in  his  grave 
Something  might  be  —  friendship  and  utter 

trust  — 
And  you,  my  dear  starved  little  Jim  shall 

have 
Flowers  of  friendship  from  my  dead  heart's 

dust; 
Life  would  be  sweet  if  men  would  never  lust. 
Why  do  you,  Jimmy?    Tell  me  sometime, 

dear, 
Why  men  are  always  what  we  women  fear. 

Not  now.    Good-bye;    we  understand,  we 

two, 
And  life,  oh,  Jim,  how  glorious  life  is ; 
This  sunshine  in  my  heart  is  due  to  you ; 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STBEET       141 

I  was  so  sad,  and  life  has  given  this. 
I  think  'I  wish  I  had  something  of  his/ 
Do  give  me  something,  will  you  be  so  kind  ? 
Something  to  keep  you  always  in  my  mind." 

"I  will,"  he  said.     "Now  go,  or  you'll  be 

late." 
He  broke  from  her  and  ran,  and  never  dreamt 
That  as  she  stood  to  watch  him  from  the  gate 
Her  heart  was  half  amusement,  half  contempt, 
Comparing  Jim  the  squab,  red  and  unkempt, 
In  sweaty  corduroys,  with  Shepherd  Ern. 
She  blew  him  kisses  till  he  passed  the  turn. 

The  whistle  blew  before  he  reached  the  line  ; 
The  foreman  asked  him  what  the  hell  he 

meant, 
Whether  a  duke  had  asked  him  out  to  dine, 
Or  if  he  thought  the  bag  would  pay  his  rent  ? 
And  Jim  was  fined  before  the  foreman  went. 


142        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

But  still  his  spirit  glowed  from  Anna's  words, 
Cooed  in  the  voice  so  like  a  singing  bird's. 

"0  Anna,  darling,  you  shall  have  a  present ; 
I'd  give  you  golden  gems  if  I  were  rich, 
And  everything  that's  sweet  and  all  that's 

pleasant." 
He  dropped  his  pick  as  though  he  had  a  stitch, 
And    stared    tow'rds    Plaister's    End,    past 

Bushe's  Pitch. 
O  beauty,  what  I  have  to  give  I'll  give, 
All  mine  is  yours,  beloved,  while  I  live." 

All  through  the  afternoon  his  pick  was  slack- 
ing, 

His  eyes  were  always  turning  west  and  south, 

The  foreman  was  inclined  to  send  him  pack- 
ing, 

But  put  it  down  to  after  fair-day  drouth ; 

He  looked  at  Jimmy  with  an  ugly  mouth, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       143 

And  Jimmy  slacked,  and  muttered  in  a  moan, 
"My  love,  my  beautiful,  my  very  own." 

So  she  had  loved.     Another  man  had  had 

her; 
She  had  been  his  with  passion  in  the  night ; 
An  agony  of  envy  made  him  sadder, 
Yet  stabbed  a  pang  of  bitter-sweet  delight  — 
O  he  would  keep  his  image  of  her  white. 
The  foreman  cursed,  stepped  up,  and  asked 

him  fiat 
What  kind  of  gum  tree  he  was  gaping  at. 

It  was  Jim's  custom,  when  the  pay  day  came, 
To  take  his  weekly  five  and  twenty  shilling 
Back  in  the  little  packet  to  his  dame  ; 
Not  taking  out  a  farthing  for  a  filling, 
Nor  twopence  for  a  pot,  for  he  was  willing 
That  she  should  have  it  all  to  save  or  spend. 
But  love  makes  many  lovely  customs  end. 


144        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

Next  pay  day  came,  and  Jimmy  took  the 

money, 
But  not  to  mother,  for  he  meant  to  buy 
A  thirteen  shilling  locket  for  his  honey, 
Whatever  bellies  hungered  and  went  dry, 
A  silver  heart-shape  with  a  ruby  eye. 
He  bought  the  thing  and  paid  the  shopman's 

price, 
And  hurried  off  to  make  the  sacrifice. 

"Is  it  for  me  ?    You  dear,  dear  generous  boy. 
How  sweet  of  you.     I'll  wear  it  in  my  dress. 
When  you're  beside  me  life  is  such  a  joy, 
You  bring  the  sun  to  solitariness." 
She  brushed  his  jacket  with  a  light  caress, 
His  arms  went  round  her  fast,  she  yielded 

meek; 
He  had  the  happiness  to  kiss  her  cheek. 

"My  dear,  my  dear."     "My  very  dear,  my 
Jim, 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       145 

How  very  kind  my  Jimmy  is  to  me  ; 
I  ache  to  think  that  some  are  harsh  to  him ; 
Not  like  my  Jimmy,  beautiful  and  free. 
My  darling  boy,  how  lovely  it  would  be 
If  all  would  trust  as  we  two  trust  each  other." 
And  Jimmy's  heart  grew  hard  against  his 
mother. 

She,  poor  old  soul,  was  waiting  in  the  gloom 

For  Jimmy's  pay,  that  she  could  do  the  shop- 
ping. 

The  clock  ticked  out  a  solemn  tale  of  doom ; 

Glogs  on  the  bricks  outside  went  clippa- 
clopping, 

The  owls  were  coming  out  and  dew  was  drop- 
ping. 

The  bacon  burnt,  and  Jimmy  not  yet  home. 

The  clock  was  ticking  dooms  out  like  a  gnome. 

"  What  can  have  kept  him  that  he  doesn't 
come? 


146         THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

O  God,  they'd  tell  me  if  he'd  come  to  hurt." 
The  unknown,  unseen  evil  struck  her  numb, 
She  saw  his  body  bloody  in  the  dirt, 
She  saw  the  life  blood  pumping  through  the 

shirt, 
She  saw  him  tipsy  in  the  navvies'  booth, 
She  saw  all  forms  of  evil  but  the  truth. 

At  last  she  hurried  up  the  line  to  ask 

If  Jim  were  hurt  or  why  he  wasn't  back. 

She  found  the  watchman  wearing  through 

his  task ; 
Over  the  fire  basket  in  his  shack ; 
Behind,  the  new  embankment  rose  up  black. 
"Gurney?"  he  said.     "He'd  got  to]  see  a 

friend." 
"Where?"     "I  dunno.    I  think  out  Plais- 

ter's  End." 

Thanking  the  man,  she  tottered  down  the  hill, 
The  long-feared  fang  had  bitten  to  the  bone. 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       147 

The  brook  beside  her  talked  as  water  will 
That  it  was  lonely  singing  all  alone, 
The  night  was  lonely  with  the  water's  tone, 
And  she  was  lonely  to  the  very  marrow. 
Love  puts  such  bitter  poison  on  Fate's  arrow. 

She  went  the  long  way  to  them  by  the  mills, 
She  told  herself  that  she  must  find  her  son. 
The  night  was  ominous  of  many  ills ; 
The  soughing  larch-clump  almost  made  her 

run, 
Her  boots  hurt  (she  had  got  a  stone  in  one) 
And  bitter  beaks  were  tearing  at  her  liver 
That  her  boy's  heart  was  turned  from  her 

forever. 

She  kept  the  lane,  past  Spindle's,  past  the 

Callows', 
Her  lips  still  muttering  prayers  against  the 

worst, 


148        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

And  there  were  people  coming  from  the  sal- 
lows, 
Along  the  wild  duck  patch  by  Beggar's  Hurst. 
Being  in  moonlight  mother  saw  them  first, 
She  saw  them  moving  in  the  moonlight  dim, 
A  woman  with  a  sweet  voice  saying  "Jim." 

Trembling  she  grovelled  down  into  the  ditch, 
They  wandered  past  her  pressing  side  to  side. 
"0  Anna,  my  belov'd,  if  I  were  rich." 
It  was  her  son,  and  Anna's  voice  replied, 
"Dear  boy,  dear  beauty  boy,  my  love  and 

pride." 
And  he :  "It's  but  a  silver  thing,  but  I 
Will  earn  you  better  lockets  by  and  bye." 

"Dear  boy,  you  mustn't."    "But  I  mean  to 

do." 
"What   was   that   funny   sort   of   noise   I 

heard?" 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       149 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  hedge ;  a  sort  of  sob  or  coo. 

Listen.    It's  gone."     "It  may  have  been  a 

bird." 
Jim  tossed  a  stone  but  mother  never  stirred. 
She  hugged  the  hedgerow,  choking  down  her 

pain, 
While  the  hot  tears  were  blinding  in  her  brain. 

The  two  passed  on,  the  withered  woman  rose, 
For  many  minutes  she  could  only  shake, 
Staring  ahead  with  trembling  little  "Oh's," 
The  noise  a  very  frightened  child  might  make. 
"O  God,  dear  God,  don't  let  the  woman  take 
My  little  son,  God,  not  my  little  Jim. 
O  God,  I'll  have  to  starve  if  I  lose  him." 

So  back  she  trembled,  nodding  with  her  head, 
Laughing  and  trembling  in  the  bursts  of  tears, 
Her  ditch-filled  boots  both  squelching  in  the 
tread, 


150        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

Her  shopping-bonnet  sagging  to  her  ears, 
Her  heart  too  dumb  with  brokenness  for  fears. 
The  nightmare  whickering  with  the  laugh  of 

death 
Could  not  have  added  terror  to  her  breath. 

She  reached  the  house,  and  :  "I'm  all  right/' 

said  she, 
"FU  just  take  off  my  things ;  but  I'm  all  right, 
I'd  be  all  right  with  just  a  cup  of  tea, 
If  I  could  only  get  this  grate  to  light, 
The  paper's  damp  and  Jimmy's  late  to-night ; 
'Belov'd,  if  I  was  rich,'  was  what  he  said, 
Oh,  Jim,  I  wish  that  God  would  kill  me  dead." 

While  she  was  blinking  at  the  unlit  grate, 
Scratching   the   moistened   match-heads   off 

the  wood, 
She  heard  Jim  coming,  so  she  reached  his 

plate, 


THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       151 

And  forked  the  over-frizzled  scraps  of  food. 
"You're  late,"  she  said,  "and  this  yer  isn't 

good, 
Whatever  makes  you  come  in  late  like  this  ?  " 
"I've  been  to  Plaister's  End,  that's  how  it  is." 

M.   You've  been  to  Plaister's  End?" 
J.   "Yes." 

M .   I've  been  staying 
For  money  for  the  shopping  ever  so. 
Down   here  we  can't   get   victuals  without 

paying, 
There's  no  trust  down  the  Bye  Street,  as  you 

know, 
And  now  it's  dark  and  it's  too  late  to  go. 
You've  been  to  Plaister's  End.     What  took 
you  there?" 
J.   "The  lady  who  was  with  us  at  the  fair." 

M.   "The  lady,  eh?    The  lady?" 
J.   "Yes,  the  lady." 


152        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

M.  "You've  been  to  see  her  ?" 
/.  "Yes." 

M.  "What  happened  then?" 

/.   "I  saw  her." 

M.   "Yes.    And  what  filth  did  she  trade 
ye? 
Or  d'you  expect  your  locket  back  agen  ? 
I  know  the  rotten  ways  of  whores  with  men. 
What  did  it  cost  ye?" 

J.  "What  did  what  cost?" 

M.  "It." 
Your  devil's  penny  for  the  devil's  bit." 

J.  "I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

M .   "  Jimmy,  my  own. 
Don't  lie  to  mother,  boy,  for  mother  knows. 
I  know  you  and  that  lady  to  the  bone, 
And  she's  a  whore,  that  thing  you  call  a  rose, 
A  whore  who  takes  whatever  male  thing  goes ; 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       153 

A  harlot  with  the  devil's  skill  to  tell 

The  special  key  of  each  man's  door  to  hell." 

J.   "  She's  not.     She's  nothing  of  the  kind, 

I  tell  'ee." 
M.   "You  can't  tell  women  like  a  woman 
can; 
A  beggar  tells  a  lie  to  fill  his  belly, 
A  strumpet  tells  a  lie  to  win  a  man, 
Women  were  liars  since  the  world  began ; 
And  she's  a  liar,  branded  in  the  eyes, 
A  rotten  liar,  who  inspires  lies." 

J,   "I  say  she's  not." 

M.  "No,  don't  'ee,  Jim,  my  dearie, 

You've  seen  her  often  in  the  last  few  days, 
She's  given  a  love  as  makes  you  come  in 

weary 
To  lie  to  me  before  going  out  to  laze. 
She's  tempted  you  into  the  devil's  ways, 


154        THE  WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

She's  robbing  you,  full  fist,  of  what  you  earn, 
In  God's  Name,  what's  she  giving  in  return  ?" 

J.   "  Her  faith,  my  dear,  and  that's  enough 

for  me." 
Af.   "Her  faith.    Her  faith.    Oh,  Jimmy, 

listen,  dear ; 
Love  doesn't  ask  for  faith,  my  son,  not  he ; 
He  asks  for  life  throughout  the  live-long  year, 
And  life's  a  test  for  any  plough  to  ere. 
Life  tests  a  plough  in  meadows  made  of 

stones, 
Love  takes  a  toll  of  spirit,  mind  and  bones. 

I  know  a  woman's  portion  when  she  loves, 
It's  hers  to  give,  my  darling,  not  to  take ; 
It  isn't  lockets,  dear,  nor  pairs  of  gloves, 
It  isn't  marriage  bells  nor  wedding  cake, 
It's  up  and  cook,  although  the  belly  ache ; 
And  bear  the  child,  and  up  and  work  again, 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       155 

And  count  a  sick  man's  grumble  worth  the 
pain. 

Will  she  do  this,  and  fifty  times  as  much?" 

/.   "No.    I  don't  ask  her." 

M.   "No.     I  warrant,  no. 
She's  one  to  get  a  young  fool  in  her  clutch, 
And  you're  a  fool  to  let  her  trap  you  so. 
She  love  you  ?    She  ?    O  Jimmy,  let  her  go ; 
I  was  so  happy,  dear,  before  she  came, 
And  now  I'm  going  to  the  grave  in  shame. 

I  bore  you,  Jimmy,  in  this  very  room. 
For  fifteen  years  I  got  you  all  you  had, 
You  were  my  little  son,  made  in  my  womb, 
Left  all  to  me,  for  God  had  took  your  dad, 
You  were  a  good  son,  doing  all  I  bade, 
Until  this  strumpet  came  from  God  knows 

where, 
And  now  you  lie,  and  I  am  in  despair. 


156        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

Jimmy,  I  won't  say  more.     I  know  you  think 
That  I  don't  know,  being  just  a  withered  old, 
With  chaps  all  fallen  in  and  eyes  that  blink, 
And  hands  that  tremble  so  they  cannot  hold. 
A  bag  of  bones  to  put  in  churchyard  mould, 
A  red-eyed  hag  beside  your  evening  star." 
And  Jimmy  gulped,  and  thought,  "By  God, 
you  are." 

"Well,  if  I  am,  my  dear,  I  don't  pretend. 
I  got  my  eyes  red,  Jimmy,  making  you. 
My  dear,  before  our  love  time's  at  an  end 
Think  just  a  minute  what  it  is  you  do. 
If  this  were  right,  my  dear,  you'd  tell  me  true ; 
You  don't,  and  so  it's  wrong ;  you  lie ;  and 

she 
Ides  too,  or  else  you  wouldn't  lie  to  me. 

Women  and  men  have  only  got  one  way 
And  that  way's  marriage;    other  ways  are 
lust. 


THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       157 

If  you  must  marry  this  one,  then  you  may 
If  you'll  not  drop  her." 
J.   "No." 

M.   "I  say  you  must. 
Or  bring  my  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  dust. 
Marry  your  whore,  you'll  pay,  and  there  an 

end. 
My  God,  you  shall  not  have  a  whore  for 
friend. 

By  God,  you  shall  not,  not  while  I'm  alive. 
Never,  so  help  me  God,  shall  that  thing  be. 
If  she's  a  woman  fit  to  touch  she'll  wive, 
If  not  she's  whore,  and  she  shall  deal  with  me. 
And  may  God's  blessed  mercy  help  us  see 
And  may  He  make  my  Jimmy  count  the  cost, 
My  little  boy  who's  lost,  as  I  am  lost." 

People  in  love  cannot  be  won  by  kindness, 
And  opposition  makes  them  feel  like  martyrs. 
When  folk  are  crazy  with  a  drunken  blindness 


158        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

It's  best  to  flog  them  with  each  other's  garters, 
And  have  the  flogging  done  by   Shropshire 

carters, 
Born  under  Ercall  where  the  white  stones  lie ; 
Ercall  that  smells  of  honey  in  July. 

Jimmy  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  thought 
That  mother  was  an  old,  hard,  jealous  thing. 
"I'll  love  my  girl  through  good  and  ill  report, 
I  shall  be  true  whatever  grief  it  bring." 
And  in  his  heart  he  heard  the  death-bell  ring 
For  mother's  death,  and  thought  what  it 

would  be 
To  bury  her  in  churchyard  and  be  free. 

He  saw  the  narrow  grave  under  the  wall, 
Home  without  mother  nagging  at  his  dear, 
And  Anna  there  with  him  at  evenfall, 
Bidding  him  dry  his  eyes  and  be  of  cheer. 
"The  death  that  took  poor  mother  brings  me 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       159 

Nearer  than  we  have  ever  been  before, 
Near  as  the  dead  one  came,  but  dearer,  more.,, 

"  Good-night,  my  son,  "said  mother.  "  Night," 

he  said. 
He  dabbed  her  brow  wi's  lips  and  blew  the 

light, 
She  lay  quite  silent  crying  on  the  bed, 
Stirring  no  limb,  but  crying  through  the  night. 
He   slept,    convinced   that   he  was  Anna's 

knight. 
And  when  he  went  to  work  he  left  behind 
Money  for  mother  crying  herself  blind. 

After  that  night  he  came  to  Anna's  call,    ' 
He  was  a  fly  in  Anna's  subtle  weavings, 
Mother  had  no  more  share  in  him  at  all  ; 
All  that  the  mother  had  was  Anna's  leavings. 
There  were  more  lies,  more  lockets,  more  de- 
ceivings, 


160        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

Taunts  from  the  proud  old  woman,  lies  from 

him, 
And  Anna's  coo  of  "Cruel.     Leave  her,  Jim." 

Also  the  foreman  spoke :  "You  make  me  sick, 
You  come-day-go-day-God-send-plenty-beer. 
You  put  less  mizzle  on  your  bit  of  Dick, 
Or  get  your  time,  I'll  have  no  slackers  here, 
I've  had  my  eye  on  you  too  long,  my  dear." 
And  Jimmy  pondered  while  the  man  attacked, 
"I'd  see  her  all  day  long  if  I  were  sacked." 

And  trembling  mother  thought,  "I'll  go  to 

see'r. 
She'd  give  me  back  my  boy  if  she  were  told 
Just  what  he  is  to  me,  my  pretty  dear : 
She  wouldn't  leave  me  starving  in  the  cold, 
Like  what  I  am."     But  she  was  weak  and  old. 
She  thought,  "  But  if  I  ast  her,  I'm  afraid 
He'd  hate  me  ever  after,"  so  she  stayed. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       161 

PART   IV 

Bessie,  the  gipsy,  got  with  child  by  Ern, 
She  joined  her  tribe  again  at  Shepherd's  Meen, 
In  that  old  quarry  overgrown  with  fern, 
Where  goats  are  tethered  on  the  patch  of 

green. 
There  she  reflected  on  the  fool  she'd  been, 
And  plaited  kipes  and  waited  for  the  bastard, 
And  thought  that  love  was  glorious  while  it 

lasted. 

And  Ern  the  moody  man  went  moody  home, 
To  that  most  gentle  girl  from  Ercall  Hill, 
And  bade  her  take  a  heed  now  he  had  come, 
Or  else,  by  cripes,  he'd  put  her  through  the 

mill. 
He  didn't  want  her  love,  he'd  had  his  fill, 
Thank  you,  of  her,  the  bread  and  butter  sack. 
And  Anna  heard  that  Shepherd  Ern  was  back. 


162        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

"Back.  And  I'll  have  him  back  to  me,"  she 
muttered, 

"This  lovesick  boy  of  twenty,  green  as  grass, 

Has  made  me  wonder  if  my  brains  are  but- 
tered, 

He,  and  his  lockets,  and  his  love,  the  ass. 

I  don't  know  why  he  comes.     Alas  !  alas  ! 

God  knows  I  want  no  love ;  but  every  sun 

I  bolt  my  doors  on  some  poor  loving  one. 

It  breaks  my  heart  to  turn  them  out  of  doors, 
I  hear  them  crying  to  me  in  the  rain ; 
One,  with  a  white  face,  curses,  one  implores, 
"Anna,  for  God's  sake,  let  me  in  again, 
Anna,  belov'd,  I  cannot  bear  the  pain." 
Like  hoovey  sheep  bleating  outside  a  fold, 
"Anna,  belov'd,  I'm  in  the  wind  and  cold." 

I  want  no  men.     I'm  weary  to  the  soul 
Of  men  like  moths  about  a  candle  flame, 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       163 

Of  men  like  flies  about  a  sugar  bowl, 
Acting  alike,  and  all  wanting  the  same, 
My  dreamed-of  swirl  of  passion  never  came. 
No  man  has  given  me  the  love  I  dreamed, 
But   in   the   best   of   each   one   something 
gleamed. 

If  my  dear  darling  were  alive,  but  he  .  .  . 
He  was  the  same ;  he  didn't  understand. 
The  eyes  of  that  dead  child  are  haunting  me, 
I  only  turned  the  blanket  with  my  hand. 
It  didn't  hurt,  he  died  as  I  had  planned. 
A  little  skinny  creature,  weak  and  red ; 
It  looked  so  peaceful  after  it  was  dead. 

I  have  been  all  alone,  in  spite  of  all. 
Never  a  light  to  help  me  place  my  feet : 
I  have  had  many  a  pain  and  many  a  fall. 
Life's  a  long  headache  in  a  noisy  street, 
Love  at  the  budding  looks  so  very  sweet, 


164        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

Men  put  such  bright  disguises  on  their  lust, 
And  then  it  all  goes  crumble  into  dust. 

Jimmy  the  same,  dear,  lovely  Jimmy,  too, 
He  goes  the  self-same  way  the  others  went : 
I  shall  bring  sorrow  to  those  eyes  of  blue. 
He  asks  the  love  I'm  sure  I  never  meant. 
Am  I  to  blame  ?    And  all  his  money  spent ! 
Men  make  this  shutting  doors  such  cruel  pain. 
0,  Ern,  I  want  you  in  my  life  again." 

On  Sunday  afternoons  the  lovers  walk 

Arm  within  arm,  dressed  in  their    Sunday 

best, 
The  man  with  the  blue  necktie  sucks  a  stalk, 
The  woman  answers  when  she  is  addressed. 
On  quiet  country  stiles  they  sit  to  rest, 
And  after  fifty  years  of  wear  and  tear 
They  think  how  beautiful  their   courtship? 

were. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       166 

Jimmy  and  Anna  met  to  walk  together 

The  Sunday  after  Shepherd  Ern  returned ; 

And  Anna's  hat  was  lovely  with  a  feather 

Bought  and  dyed  blue  with  money  Jimmy 
earned. 

They  walked  towards  Callows  Farm,  and 
Anna  yearned : 

"Dear  boy,"  she  said,  "This  road  is  dull  to- 
day, 

Suppose  we  turn  and  walk  the  other  way." 

They  turned,  she  sighed.  "What  makes  you 
sigh?"  he  asked. 

"Thinking,"  she  said,  "thinking  and  griev- 
ing, too. 

Perhaps  some  wicked  woman  will  come 
masked 

Into  your  life,  my  dear,  to  ruin  you. 

And  trusting  every  woman  as  you  do 

It  might  mean  death  to  love  and  be  deceived ; 


166        THE  WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

You'd  take  it  hard,  I  thought,  and  so  I 
grieved." 

"  Dear  one,  dear  Anna."     "  0  my  lovely  boy, 
Life  is  all  golden  to  the  finger  tips. 
What  will  be  must  be :  but  to-day's  a  joy. 
Reach  me  that  lovely  branch  of  scarlet  hips." 
He  reached  and  gave ;  she  put  it  to  her  lips. 
"And  here,"  she  said,  "we  come  to  Plaister 

Turns," 
And  then  she  chose  the  road  to  Shepherd 

Era's. 

As  the  deft  angler,  when  the  fishes  rise, 
Flicks  on  the  broadening  circle  over  each 
The  delicatest  touch  of  dropping  flies, 
Then  pulls  more  line  and  whips  a  longer  reach, 
Longing  to  feel  the  rod  bend,  the  reel  screech, 
And  the  quick  comrade  net  the  monster  out, 
So  Anna  played  the  fly  over  her  trout. 


THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       167 

Twice  she  passed,  thrice,   she  with  the  boy 

beside  her, 
A  lovely  fly,  hooked  for  a  human  heart, 
She  passed  his  little  gate,  while  Jimmy  eyed 

her, 
Feeling  her  beauty  tear  his  soul  apart : 
Then  did  the  great  trout  rise,  the  great  pike 

dart, 
The  gate  went  clack,  a  man  came  up  the  hill, 
The  lucky  strike  had  hooked  him  through  the 

gill. 

Her  breath  comes  quick,  her  tired  beauty 

glows, 
She  would  not  look  behind,  she  looked  ahead 
It  seemed  to  Jimmy  she  was  like  a  rose, 
A  golden  white  rose  faintly  flushed  with 

red. 
Her  eyes  danced  quicker  at  the  approaching 

tread, 


168        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

Her  finger  nails  dug  sharp  into  her  palm. 
She  yearned  to  Jimmy's  shoulder,  and  kept 
calm. 

"Evening,"  said  Shepherd  Ern.    She  turned 

and  eyed  him, 
Cold  and  surprised,  but  interested  too, 
To  see  how  much  he  felt  the  hook  inside  him, 
And  how  much  he  surmised,  and  Jimmy 

knew, 
And  if  her  beauty  still  could  make  him  do 
The  love  tricks  he  had  gambolled  in  the  past. 
A  glow  shot  through  her  that  her  fish  was 

grassed. 

"Evening,"    she    said.      "Good    evening." 

Jimmy  felt 
Jealous  and  angry  at  the  shepherd's  tone  ; 
He  longed  to  hit  the  fellow's  nose  a  belt, 
He  wanted  his  beloved  his  alone. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       169 

A  fellow's  girl  should  be  a  fellow's  own. 
Ern  gave  the  lad  a  glance  and  turned  to  Anna, 
Jim  might  have  been  in  China  by  his  manner. 

"  Still  walking  out  ?  "     "  As  you  are."     "  I'll 

be  bound." 
"Can  you  talk  gipsy  yet,  or  plait  a  kipe  ?" 
"I'll  teach  you  if  I  can  when  I  come  round." 
"And  when  will  that  be ? "    " When  the  time 

is  ripe." 
And  Jimmy  longed  to  hit  the  man  a  swipe 
Under  the  chin  to  knock  him  out  of  time, 
But  Anna  stayed:    she  still  had  twigs  to 

lime. 

"Come,  Anna,  come,  my  dear,"  he  muttered 

low. 
She  frowned,  and  blinked  and  spoke  again  to 

Ern. 
"I  hear  the  gipsy  has  a  row  to  hoe." 


170        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

"The  more  you  hear,"  he  said,  "the  less 

you'll  learn." 
"We've  just  come  out,"  she  said,  "to  take  a 

turn; 
Suppose  you   come  along:    the  more  the 

merrier." 
"All  right,"  he  said,  "but  how  about  the 

terrier?" 

He  cocked  an  eye  at  Jimmy.  "Does  he 
bite?" 

Jimmy  blushed  scarlet.  "He's  a  dear,"  said 
she. 

Ern  walked  a  step,  "Will  you  be  in  to- 
night?" 

She  shook  her  head,  "I  doubt  if  that  may  be. 

Jim,  here's  a  friend  who  wants  to  talk  to  me, 

So  will  you  go  and  come  another  day?" 

"By  crimes,  I  won't !"  said  Jimmy,  "I  shall 
stay." 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       171 

"I  thought  he  bit,"  said  Era,  and  Anna 

smiled, 
And  Jimmy  saw  the  smile  and  watched  her 

face 
While  all  the  jealous  devils  made  him  wild ; 
A  third  in  love  is  always  out  of  place ; 
And  then  her  gentle  body  full  of  grace 
Leaned  to  him  sweetly  as  she  tossed  her  head, 
"  Perhaps  we  two'll  be  getting  on,"  she  said. 

They  walked,  but  Jimmy  turned  to  watch 

the  third. 
"I'm  here,  not  you,"  he  said;  the  shepherd 

grinned : 
Anna  was  smiling  sweet  without  a  word ; 
She  got  the  scarlet  berry  branch  unpinned. 
"It's  cold,"  she  said,  "this  evening,  in  the 

wind." 
A  quick  glance  showed  that  Jimmy  didn't 

mind  her, 


172        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

She  beckoned  with  the  berry  branch  behind 
her. 


Then  dropped  it  gently  on  the  broken  stones, 
Preoccupied,  unheeding,  walking  straight, 
Saying  "  You  jealous  boy,"  in  even  tones, 
Looking  so  beautiful,  so  delicate, 
Being  so  very  sweet :  but  at  her  gate 
She  felt  her  shoe  unlaced  and  looked  to  know 
If  Ern  had  taken  up  the  sprig  or  no. 

He  had,  she  smiled.     "Anna,"  said  Jimmy 

sadly, 
"That  man's  not  fit  to  be  a  friend  of  yourn, 
He's  nobbut  just  an  oaf ;  I  love  you  madly, 
And  hearing  you  speak  kind  to'm  made  me 

burn. 
Who  is  he,  then  ? "    She  answered  "Shepherd 

Ern, 
A  pleasant  man,  an  old,  old  friend  of  mine." 


THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       173 

By  cripes,  then,  Anna,    drop  him,  he's  a 


"Jimmy,"  she  said,  "you  must  have  faith  in 

me, 
Faith's  all  the  battle  in  a  love  like  ours. 
You  must  believe,  my  darling,  don't  you  see, 
That  life  to  have  its  sweets  must  have  its 

sours. 
Love  isn't  always  two  souls  picking  flowers. 
You  must  have  faith.     I  give  you  all  I  can. 
What,  can't  I  say  "Good  evening'  to  a  man  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "but  not  a  man  like  him." 
"Why  not  a  man  like  him  ?  "  she  said,  "  What 

next?" 
By  this  they'd  reached  her  cottage  in  the  dim, 
Among  the  daisies  that  the  cold  had  kexed. 
"Because    I    say.      Now,   Anna,   don't    be 

vexed." 


174        THE  WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

"I'm  more  than   vexed/ '   she  said,   "with 

words  like  these. 
'You  say/  indeed.    How  dare  you.    Leave 

me,  please/' 

"Anna,  my  Anna."    "Leave  me."     She  was 

cold, 
Proud  and  imperious  with  a  lifting  lip, 
Blazing  within,  but  outwardly  controlled ; 
He  had  a  colt's  first  instant  of  the  whip. 
The  long  lash  curled  to  cut  a  second  strip. 
"You  to  presume  to  teach.    Of  course,  I 

know 
You're  mother's  Sunday  scholar,  aren't  you  ? 

Go." 

She  slammed  the  door  behind  her,  clutching 

skirts. 
"Anna."     He   heard   her   bedroom   latches 

thud. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       175 

He  learned  at  last  how  bitterly  love  hurts ; 
He  longed  to  cut  her  throat  and  see  her  blood, 
To  stamp  her  blinking  eyeballs  into  mud. 
"Anna,  by  God!"     Love's  many   torments 

make 
That  tune  soon  change  to  "Dear,  for  Jesus' 

sake." 

He  beat  the  door  for  her.    She  never  stirred, 
But  primming  bitter  lips  before  her  glass ; 
Admired  her  hat  as  though  she  hadn't  heard, 
And  tried  her  front  hair  parted,  and  in  mass. 
She  heard  her  lover's  hasty  footsteps  pass. 
"He's  gone,"  she  thought.    She    crouched 

below  the  pane, 
And  heard  him  cursing  as  he  tramped  the 

lane. 

Rage  ran  in  Jimmy  as  he  tramped  the  night ; 
Rage,  strongly  mingled  with  a  youth's   dis- 
gust 


176        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

At  finding  a  beloved  woman  light, 
And  all  her  precious  beauty  dirty  dust ; 
A  tinsel-varnish  gilded  over  lust. 
Nothing  but  that.     He  sat  him  down  to  rage, 
Beside  the  stream  whose  waters  never  age. 

Plashing,  it  slithered  down  the  tiny  fall 
To  eddy  wrinkles  in  the  trembling  pool 
With  that  light  voice  whose  music   cannot 

pall, 
Always  the  note  of  solace,  flute-like,  cool. 
And  when  hot-headed  man  has  been  a  fool, 
He  could  not  do  a  wiser  thing  than  go 
To  that  dim  pool  where  purple  teazels  grow. 

He  glowered  there  until  suspicion  came, 
Suspicion,  anger's  bastard,  with  mean  tongue, 
To  mutter  to  him  till  his  heart  was  flame, 
And  every  fibre  of  his  soul  was  wrung, 
That  even  then  Ern  and  his  Anna  clung 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET        177 

Mouth  against  mouth  in  passionate  embrace. 
There  was  no  peace  for  Jimmy  in  the  place. 

Raging  he  hurried  back  to  learn  the  truth. 
The  little  swinging  wicket  glimmered  white, 
The  chimney  jagged  the  skyline  like  a  tooth, 
Bells  came  in  swoons,  for  it  was  Sunday  night. 
The  garden  was  all  dark,  but  there  was  light 
Up  in  the  little  room  where  Anna  slept : 
The  hot  blood  beat  his  brain ;  he  crept,  he 
crept. 

Clutching  himself  to  hear,  clutching  to  know, 
Along    the    path,    rustling    with    withered 

leaves, 
Up  to  the  apple,  too  decayed  to  blow, 
Which  crooked  a  palsied  finger  at  the  eaves. 
And  up  the  lichened  trunk  his  body  heaves. 
Dust    blinded    him,    twigs    snapped,    the 

branches  shook, 
He  leaned  along  a  mossy  bough  to  look. 


178        TEE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

Nothing  at  first,  except  a  guttering  candle 
Shaking  amazing  shadows  on  the  ceiling, 
Then  Anna's  voice  upon  a  bar  of  "Randal, 
Where  have  you   been?"    and   voice   and 

music  reeling, 
Trembling,  as  though  she  sang  with  flooding 

feeling. 
The  singing  stopped  midway  upon  the  stair, 
Then  Anna  showed  in  white  with  loosened 

hair. 

Her  back  was  towards  him,  and  she  stood 

awhile, 
Like  a  wild  creature  tossing  back  her  mane, 
And  then  her  head  went  back,  he  saw  a  smile 
On  the  half  face  half  turned  towards  the  pane ; 
Her  eyes  closed,  and  her  arms  went  out  again. 
Jim  gritted  teeth,  and  called  upon  his  Maker, 
She  drooped  into  a  man's  arms  there  to  take 

her. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       179 

Agony  first,  sharp,  sudden,  like  a  knife, 
Then  down  the  tree  to  batter  at  the  door ; 
"Open  there.     Let  me  in.    I'll  have  your 

life. 
You  Jezebel  of  hell,  you  painted  whore. 
Talk  about  faith,  I'll  give  you  faith  galore." 
The  window  creaked,  a  jug  of  water  came 
Over  his  head  and  neck  with  certain  aim. 

"Clear  out,"  said  Ern;  "I'm  here,  not  you, 

to-night, 
Clear  out.    We  whip  young  puppies  when 

they  yap." 
"If  you're  a  man,"  said  Jim,  "come  down 

and  fight, 
I'll  put  a  stopper  on  your  ugly  chap." 
"Go  home,"  said  Ern;    "go  home  and  get 

your  pap. 
To  kennel,  pup,  and  bid  your  mother  bake 
Some  soothing  syrup  in  your  puppy  cake." 


180        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

There  was  a  dibble  sticking  in  the  bed, 
Jim  wrenched  it  out  and  swung  it  swiftly 

round, 
And  sent  it  flying  at  the  shepherd's  head : 
'Til  give  you  puppy-cake.    Take  that,  you 

hound." 
The    broken    glass    went    clinking    to    the 

ground, 
The  dibble  balanced,  checked,  and  followed 

flat. 
"My  God,"  said  Ern,  'Til  give  you  hell  for 

that." 

He  flung  the  door  ajar  with  "Now,  my  pup  — 
Hold  up  the  candle,  Anna  —  now,  we'll  see." 
"By  crimes,  come  on,"  said  Jimmy;   "put 

them  up. 
Come,  put  them  up,  you  coward,  here  I  be." 
And  Jim,  eleven  stone,  what  chance  had  he 
Against  fourteen  ?  but  what  he  could  he  did ; 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       181 

Ern  swung  his  right :  "That  settles  you,  my 
kid." 


Jimmy  went  down  and  out:    "The  kid/' 

said  Ern. 
"A  kid,  a  sucking  puppy;   hold  the  light." 
And  Anna  smiled :  "It  gave  me  such  a  turn. 
You    look    so    splendid,    Ernie,    when    you 

fight." 
She  looked  at  Jim  with:    "Ern,  is  he  all 

right?" 
"He's  coming  to."     She  shuddered,  "Pah, 

the  brute, 
What  things  he  said;"   she  stirred  him  with 

her  foot. 

"You  go  inside,"  said  Ern,  "and  bolt  the 

door, 
I'll  deal  with  him."     She  went  and  Jimmy 

stood. 


182        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

;'Now,  pup,"  said  Era,  "  don't  come  round 

here  no  more. 
I'm  here,  not  you,  let  that  be  understood. 
I  tell  you  frankly,  pup,  for  your  own  good." 
"Give  me  my  hat,"  said  Jim.     He  passed 

the  gate, 
And  as  he  tottered  off  he  called,  "You  wait." 

"Thanks,  I  don't  have  to,"  Shepherd  Era 

replied ; 
"You'll  do  whatever  waiting's  being  done." 
The  door  closed  gently  as  he  went  inside, 
The  bolts  jarred  in  the  channels  one  by  one. 
"I'll  give  you  throwing  bats  about,  my  son. 
Anna."     "My  dear?"     "Where  are  you?" 

"Come  and  find." 
The  light  went  out,  the  windows  stared  oir 

blind, 

Blind  as  blind  eyes  forever  seeing  dark. 
And  in  the  dim  the  lovers  went  upstairs, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       183 

Her  eyes  fast  closed,  the  shepherd's  burning 

stark, 
His  lips  entangled  in  her  straying  hairs, 
Breath  coming  short  as  in  a  convert's  prayers, 
Her  stealthy  face  all  drowsy  in  the  dim 
And  full  of  shudders  as  she  yearned  to  him. 

Jim  crossed  the  water,  cursing  in  his  tears, 
'By  cripes,  you  wait.    My  God,  he's  with 

her  now, 
And  all  her  hair  pulled  down  over  her  ears ; 
Loving  the  blaggard  like  a  filthy  sow. 
I  saw  her  kiss  him  from  the  apple  bough. 
They  say  a  whore  is  always  full  of  wiles. 
O  God,  how  sweet  her  eyes  are  when  she 

smiles. 

Curse  her  and  curse  her.    No,  my  God,  she's 

sweet, 
It's  all  a  helly  nightmare.     I  shall  wake. 


184        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

If  it  were  all  a  dream  I'd  kiss  her  feet, 
I  wish  it  were  a  dream  for  Jesus'  sake. 
One  thing :  I  bet  I  made  his  guzzle  ache, 
I  cop  it  fair  before  he  sent  me  down, 
I'll  cop  him  yet  some  evening  on  the  crown. 

0  God,  0  God,  what  pretty  ways  she  had. 
He's  kissing  all  her  skin,  so  white  and  soft. 
She's  kissing  back.     I  think  I'm  going  mad. 
Like  rutting  rattens  in  the  apple  loft. 

She  held  that  light  she  carried  high  aloft 
Full  in  my  eyes  for  him  to  hit  me  by, 

1  had  the  light  all  dazzling  in  my  eye. 

She  had  her  dress  all  clutched  up  to  her 

shoulder, 
And  all  her  naked  arm  was  all  one  gleam. 
It's   going   to   freeze   to-night,    it's   turning 

colder. 
I  wish  there  was  more  water  in  the  stream, 


THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       185 

I'd  drownd  myself.     Perhaps  it's  all  a  dream, 
And  by  and  bye  I'll  wake  and  find  it  stuff. 
By  crimes,  the  pain  I  suffer 's  real  enough." 

About  two  hundred  yards  from  Gunder  Loss 
He  stopped  to  shudder,  leaning  on  the  gate, 
He  bit  the  touchwood  underneath  the  moss ; 
" Rotten,  like  her,"  he  muttered  in  his  hate; 
He  spat  it  out  again  with  "But,  you  wait, 
We'll  see  again,  before  to-morrow's  past, 
In  this  life  he  laughs  longest  who  laughs 
last." 

All  through  the  night  the  stream  ran  to  the 

sea, 
The  different  water  always  saying  the  same, 
Cat-like,  and  then  a  tinkle,  never  glee, 
A  lonely  little  child  alone  in  shame. 
An  otter  snapped  a  thorn  twig  when  he  came, 
It  drifted  down,  it  passed  the  Hazel  Mill, 


186       THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

It  passed  the  Springs;    but  Jimmy  stayed 
there  still. 

Over  the  pointed  hill-top  came  the  light, 
Out  of  the  mists  on  Ercall  came  the  sun, 
Red  like  a  huntsman  hallowing  after  night, 
Blowing  a  horn  to  rouse  up  everyone ; 
Through  many  glittering  cities  he  had  run, 
Splashing  the  wind  vanes  on  the  dewy  roofs 
With  golden  sparks  struck  by  his  horses'  hoofs. 

The  watchman  rose,  rubbing  his  rusty  eyes, 

He  stirred  the  pot  of  cocoa  for  his  mate ; 

The  fireman  watched  his  head  of  power  rise. 

" What  time?"  he  asked. 

"You  haven't  long  to  wait." 

"Now,  is  it  time?" 

"Yes.    Let  her  ripple."    Straight 

The  whistle  shrieked  its  message,  "Up  to 

work ! 
Up,  or  be  fined  a  quarter  if  you  shirk." 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       187 

Hearing  the  whistle,  Jimmy  raised  his  head, 
"The  warning  call,  and  me  in  Sunday  clones ; 
I'd  better  go ;  I've  time.  The  sun  looks  red, 
I  feel  so  stiff  I'm  very  nearly  froze.' ' 
So  over  brook  and  through  the  fields  he  goes, 
And  up  the  line  among  the  navvies'  smiles, 
"  Young  Jimmy  Gurney's  been  upon  the 
tiles." 

The  second  whistle  blew  and  work  began, 

Jimmy  worked  too,  not  knowing  what  he 
did, 

He  tripped  and  stumbled  like  a  drunken 
man; 

He  muddled  all,  whatever  he  was  bid, 

The  foreman  cursed,  "Good  God,  what  ails 
the  kid? 

Hi !  Gurney.  You.  We'll  have  you  crock- 
ing soon, 

You  take  a  lie  down  till  the  afternoon." 


188        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

"I  won't/'  he  answered.     "Why  the  devil 

should  I  ? 
I'm  here,  I  mean  to  work.     I  do  my  piece, 
Or  would  do  if  a  man  could,  but  how  could  I 
When  you  come  nagging  round  and  never 

cease  ? 
Well,  take  the  job  and  give  me  my  release, 
I  want  the  sack,  now  give  it,  there's  my 

pick; 
Give  me  the  sack."    The  sack  was  given 

quick. 

PART  V 

Dully  he  got  his  time-check  from  the  keeper. 
"Curse  her,"  he  said;    "and  that's  the  end 

of  whores"  — 
He  stumbled  drunkenly  across  a  sleeper  — 
"Give  all  you  have  and  get   kicked   out  — 

a-door." 
He  cashed  his  time-check  at  the  station  stores. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       189 

"Bett'ring  yourself,  I  hope,  Jim,"  said  the 

master ; 
"That's  it,"  said  Jim;    "and  so  I  will  do, 

blast  her." 

Beyond  the  bridge,  a  sharp  turn  to  the  right 
Leads  to  "The  Bull  and  Boar,"  the  carters' 

rest; 
An  inn  so  hidden  it  is  out  of  sight 
To  anyone  not  coming  from  the  west, 
The  high  embankment  hides  it  with  its  crest. 
Far  up  above,  the  Chester  trains  go  by, 
The  drinkers  see  them  sweep  against  the  sky. 

Canal  men  used  it  when  the  barges  came, 
The   navvies   used   it   when   the   line   was 

making; 
The  pigeons  strut  and  sidle,  ruffing,  tame, 
The  chuckling  brook  in  front  sets  shadows 

shaking. 


190        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

Cider  and  beer  for  thirsty  workers'  slaking, 
A  quiet  house ;  like  all  that  God  controls, 
It  is  Fate's  instrument  on  human  souls. 

Thither  Jim  turned.    "And  now  I'll  drink," 

he  said. 
"I'll  drink  and  drink  —  I  never  did  before  — 
I'll  drink  and  drink  until  I'm  mad  or  dead, 
For  that's  what  comes  of  meddling  with  a 

whore." 
He  called  for  liquor  at  "The  Bull  and  Boar"  ; 
Moody  he  drank ;  the  woman  asked  him  why : 
"Have  you  had  trouble?"    "No,"  he  said, 

"I'm  dry. 

Dry  and  burnt  up,  so  give's  another  drink  ; 
That's  better,  that's  much  better,  that's  the 

sort." 
And  then  he  sang,  so  that  he  should  not 

think, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       191 

His  Binger-Bopper  song,  but  cut  it  short. 
His  wits  were  working  like  a  brewer's  wort, 
Until  among  them  came  the  vision  gleaming 
Of  Ern  with  bloody  nose  and  Anna  scream- 
ing. 

"  That's  what  I'll  do,"  he  muttered ;  "  knock 

him  out, 
And  kick  his  face  in  with  a  running  jump. 
I'll  not  have  dazzled  eyes  this  second  bout, 
And  she  can  wash  the  fragments  under  pump." 
It  was  his  ace;    but  Death  had  played  a 

trump. 
Death  the  blind  beggar  chuckled,  nodding 

dumb, 
"My  game;   the  shroud  is  ready,  Jimmy  — 

come." 

Meanwhile,  the  mother,  waiting  for  her  child, 
Had  tottered  out  a  dozen  times  to  search. 


192        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

"  Jimmy,"  shesaid,  "you'll  drive  your  mother 

wild; 
Your  father's  name's  too  good  a  name  to 

smirch, 
Come  home,  my  dear,  she'll  leave  you  in  the 

lurch; 
He  was  so  good,  my  little  Jim,  so  clever ; 
He  never  stop  a  night  away,  not  ever. 

He  never  slept  a  night  away  till  now, 
Never,  not  once,  in  all  the  time  he's  been. 
It's  the  Lord's  will,  they  say,  and  we  must 

bow, 
But  O,  it's  like  a  knife,  it  cuts  so  keen ! 
He'll  work  in's  Sunday  clothes,  it'll  be  seen, 
And  then  they'll  laugh,  and  say  'It  isn't 

strange ; 
He  slept  with  her,  and  so  he  couldn't  change.' 

Perhaps,"  she  thought,  "I'm  wrong;  per- 
haps he's  dead ; 


THE   WIDOW  iy  THE  BYE  STREET       193 

Killed  himself  like ;  folk  do  in  love,  they  say. 
He  never  tells  what  passes  in  his  head, 
And  he's  been  looking  late  so  old  and  grey. 
A  railway  train  has  cut  his  head  away, 
Like  the  poor  hare  we  found  at  Maylow's 
shack. 

0  God,  have  pity,  bring  my  darling  back !" 

All  the  high  stars  went  sweeping  through  the 

sky, 
The  sun  made  all  the  orient  clean,  clear  gold. 
"O  blessed  God,"  she  prayed,  "do  let  me  die, 
Or  bring  my  wand'ring  lamb  back  into  fold. 
The  whistle's  gone,  and  all  the  bacon's  cold ; 

1  must  know  somehow  if  he's  on  the  line, 
He   could  have  bacon  sandwich   when  he 

dine." 

She  cut  the  bread,  and  started,  short  of 
breath, 


194        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

Up  the  canal  now  draining  for  the  rail; 
A  poor  old  woman  pitted  against  death, 
Bringing  her  pennyworth  of  love  for  bail. 
Wisdom,  beauty,  and  love  may  not  avail. 
She  was  too  late.    "Yes,  he  was  here;   oh, 

yes. 
He  chucked  his  job  and  went."    "Where?" 

"Home,  I  guess." 

"Home,  but  he  hasn't  been  home."    "Well, 

he  went. 
Perhaps   you   missed   him,    mother."    "Or 

perhaps 
He  took  the  field  path  yonder  through  the 

bent. 
He  very  likely  done  that,  don't  he,  chaps?" 
The  speaker  tested  both  his  trouser  straps 
And  took  his  pick.     "He's  in  the  town,"  he 

said. 
"He'll  be  all  right,  after  a  bit  in  bed." 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       195 

She  trembled  down  the  high  embankment's 
ridge, 

Glad,  though  too  late ;  not  yet  too  late,  in- 
deed. 

For  forty  yards  away,  beyond  the  bridge, 

Jimmy  still  drank,  the  devil  still  sowed  seed. 

"  A  bit  in  bed,"  she  thought,  "is  what  I  need. 

I'll  go  to  'Bull  and  Boar'  and  rest  a  bit, 

They've  got  a  bench  outside ;  they'd  let  me 
sit." 

Even  as  two  soldiers  on  a  fortress  wall 
See  the  bright  fire  streak  of  a  coming  shell, 
Catch  breath,  and  wonder  "Which  way  will 

it  fall? 
To  you  ?  to  me  ?  or  will  it  all  be  well  ?  " 
Ev'n  so  stood  life  and  death,  and  could  not 

tell 
Whether  she'd  go  to  th'  inn  and  find  her  son, 
Or  take  the  field  and  let  the  doom  be  done. 


196       THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

"No,  not  the  inn,"  she  thought.     "People 

would  talk. 
I  couldn't  in  the  open  daytime ;  no. 
I'll  just  sit  here  upon  the  timber  balk, 
I'll  rest  for  just  a  minute  and  then  go." 
Resting,  her  old  tired  heart  began  to  glow, 
Glowed  and  gave  thanks,  and  thought  itself 

in  clover, 
"He's  lost  his  job,  so  now  she'll  throw  him 


over." 


Sitting,  she  saw  the  rustling  thistle-kex, 
The  picks  flash  bright  above,  the  trolleys  tip. 
The  bridge-stone  shining,  full  of  silver  specks, 
And  three  swift  children  running  down  the 

dip. 
A  Stoke  Saint  Michael   carter  cracked  his 

whip, 
The  water  in  the  runway  made  its  din. 
She  half  heard  singing  coming  from  the  inn. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       197 

She  turned,  and  left  the  inn,  and  took  the  path 
And  "  Brother  Life,  you  lose,"  said  Brother 

Death, 
"Even  as  the  Lord  of  all  appointed  hath 
In  this  great  miracle  of  blood  and  breath." 
He  doeth  all  things  well,  as  the  book  saith, 
He  bids  the  changing  stars  fulfil  their  turn, 
His  hand  is  on  us  when  we  least  discern. 

Slowly  she  tottered,  stopping  with  the  stitch, 
Catching  her  breath,  "O  lawks,  a  dear,  a  dear. 
How  the  poor  tubings  in  my  heart  do  twitch, 
It  hurts  like  the  rheumatics  very  near." 
And  every  painful  footstep  drew  her  clear 
From  that  young  life  she  bore  with  so  much 

pain. 
She  never  had  him  to  herself  again. 

Out  of  the  inn  came  Jimmy,  red  with  drink, 
Crying:    "I'll  show  her.    Wait  a  bit.    I'll 
show  her. 


198        TEE   WIDOW  IN  TEE  BYE  STREET 

You  wait  a  bit.     I'm  not  the  kid  you  think. 
I'm     Jimmy     Gurney,     champion     tupper- 

thrower, 
When  I  get  done  with  her  you'll  never  know 

her, 
Nor  him  you  won't.    Out  of  my  way,  you 

fowls, 
Or    else   I'll  rip   the  red   things   off   your 

jowls." 

He  went  across  the  fields  to  Plaister's  End. 

There  was  a  lot  of  water  in  the  brook, 

Sun  and  white  cloud  and  weather  on  the 

mend 
For  any  man  with  any  eyes  to  look. 
He  found  old  Callow's  plough-bat,  which  he 

took. 
"My  innings  now,  my  pretty  dear,"  said  he. 
"  You  wait  a  bit.     I'll  show  you.    Now  you'll 


THE    WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET       199 

Her  chimney  smoke  was  blowing  blue  and 

faint, 
The  wise  duck  shook  a  tail  across  the  pool, 
The  blacksmith's  shanty  smelt  of  burning 

paint, 
Four  newly  tired  cartwheels' hung  to  cool. 
He  had  loved  the  place  when  under  Anna's 

rule. 
Now  he  clenched  teeth  and  flung  aside  the 

gate, 
There  at  the  door  they  stood.    He  grinned 

"  Now  wait." 

Ern  had  just  brought  her  in  a  wired  hare, 
She  stood  beside  him  stroking  down  the  fur. 
"O,  Ern,  poor  thing,  look  how  its  eyes  do 

stare." 
"It  isn't  ft,"  he  answered.    "It's  a  her." 
She  stroked  the  breast  and  plucked  away  a 

bur, 


200        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

She  kissed  the  pads,  and  leapt  back  with  a 

shout, 
"  My  God,  he's  got  the  spudder.    Era.    Look 

out." 

Em  clenched  his  fists.    Too  late.    He  felt  no 

pain, 
Only  incredible  haste  in  something  swift, 
A  shock  that  made  the  sky  black  on  his  brain, 
Then  stillness,  while  a  little  cloud  went  drift. 
The  weight  upon  his  thigh  bones  wouldn't  lift ; 
Then  poultry  in  a  long  procession  came, 
Grey-legged,  doing  the  goose-step,  eyes  like 

flame. 

Grey-legged  old  cocks  and  hens  sedate  in  age, 
Marching  with  jerks  as  though  they  moved 

on  springs, 
With  sidelong  hate  in  round  eyes  red  with 

rage, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       201 

And  shouldered  muskets  clipped  by  jealous 

wings, 
Then  an  array  of  horns  and  stupid  things : 
Sheep  on  a  hill  with  harebells,  hare  for  dinner. 
"Hare."    A  slow  darkness  covered  up  the 

sinner. 

"But  little  time  is  right  hand  fain  of  blow." 
Only  a  second  changes  lif e  to  death ; 
Hate  ends  before  the  pulses  cease  to  go, 
There  is  great  power  in  the  stop  of  breath. 
There's  too  great  truth  in  what  the  dumb 

thing  saith, 
Hate  never  goes  so  far  as  that,  nor  can. 
"I  am  what  life  becomes.    D'you  hate  me, 

man?" 

Hate  with  his  babbling  instant,   red  and 

damning, 
Passed  with  his  instant,  having  drunken  red. 


202        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

"  You've  killed  him." 

"No,  I've  not,  he's  only  shamming. 

Get  up." 

"He  can't." 

"O  God,  he  isn't  dead." 

"OGod." 

"Here.     Get  a  basin.     Bathe  his  head. 

Ernie,  for  God's  sake,  what  are  you  playing  at  ? 

I  only  give  him  one,  like,  with  the  bat." 

Man  cannot  call  the  brimming  instant  back ; 
Time's  an  affair  of  instants  spun  to  days ; 
If  man  must  make  an  instant  gold,  or  black, 
Let  him,  he  may,  but  Time  must  go  his  ways. 
Life  may  be  duller  for  an  instant's  blaze. 
Life's  an  affair  of  instants  spun  to  years, 
Instants  are  only  cause  of  all  these  tears. 

Then  Anna  screamed  aloud.     "Help.     Mur- 
der.    Murder." 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       203 

"By  God,  it  is,"  he  said.     "Through  you, 

you  slut." 
Backing,  she  screamed,  until  the  blacksmith 

heard  her. 
"Hurry,"  they  cried,  "the  woman's  throat's 

being  cut." 
Jim  had  his  coat  off  by  the  water  butt. 
"He  might  come  to,"  he  said,  "with  wine  or 

soup. 
I  only  hit  him  once,  like,  with  the  scoop." 

"Splash  water  on  him,  chaps.     I  only  meant 
To  hit  him  just  a  clip,  like,  nothing  more. 
There.    Look.    He  isn't  dead,  his  eyelids  went. 
And  he  went  down.    O  God,  his  head's  all  tore. 
I've  washed  and  washed :  it's  all  one  gob  of 

gore. 
He  don't  look  dead  to  you  ?    What  ?    Nor  to 

you? 
Not  kill,  the  clip  I  give  him,  couldn't  do." 


204        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

"God  send;  he  looks  damn  bad,"  the  black- 
smith said. 

"Py  Cot/'  his  mate  said,  "she  wass  alto- 
gether ; 

She  hass  an  illness  look  of  peing  ted." 

"Here.  Get  a  glass,"  the  smith  said,  "and a 
feather." 

"Wass  you  at  fightings  or  at  playings 
whether?" 

"Here,  get  a  glass  and  feather.  Quick's  the 
word." 

The  glass  was  clear.  The  feather  never 
stirred. 

"By  God,  I'm  sorry,  Jim.    That  settles  it." 
"By  God.    I've  killed  him,  then." 

"The  doctor  might." 
"Try,  if  you  like;  but  that's  a  nasty  hit." 
"Doctor's  gone  by.    He  won't  be  back  till 
night." 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       205 

"Py  Cot,  the  feather  was  not  looking  right." 
"By  Jesus,  chaps,  I  never  meant  to  kill  'un. 
Only  to  bat.    I'll  go  to  p'leece  and  tell  'un. 

O  Ern,  for  God's  sake  speak,  for  God's  sake 

speak." 
No  answer  followed:    Ern  had  done  with 

dust, 
"The  p'leece  is  best,"  the  smith  said,  "or  a 

beak. 
I'll  come  along ;  and  so  the  lady  must. 
Evans,  you  bring  the  lady,  will  you  just  ? 
Tell  'em  just  how  it  come,  lad.    Come  your 

ways; 
And  Joe,  you  watch  the  body  where  it  lays." 

They  walked  to  town,  Jim  on  the  blacksmith's 

arm. 
Jimmy  was  crying  like  a  child,  and  saying, 
"I  never  meant  to  do  him  any  harm." 


206        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

His  teeth  went  clack,  like  bones  at  mummers 

playing, 
And  then  he  trembled  hard  and  broke  out 

praying, 
"God  help  my  poor  old  mother.    If  he's 

dead, 
I've  brought  her  my  last  wages  home,"  he 

said. 

He   trod   his   last   free   journey  down   the 

street ; 
Treading  the  middle  road,  and  seeing  both 

sides, 
The  school,   the  inns,  the  butchers  selling 

meat, 
The  busy  market  where  the  town  divides. 
Then  past  the  tanpits  full  of  stinking  hides, 
And  up  the  lane  to  death,  as  weak  as  pith. 
"By  God,  I    hate   this,  Jimmy,"   said    the 

smith. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       207 

PART  VI 

Anna  in  black,  the  judge  in  scarlet  robes, 
A  fuss  of  lawyers'  people  coming,  going, 
The  windows  shut,  the  gas  alight  in  globes, 
Evening  outside,  and  pleasant  weather  blow- 
ing. 
"They'll  hang  him  V9    "I  suppose  so ;  there's 

no  knowing." 
"A   pretty  piece,    the   woman,    ain't   she, 

John? 
He  killed  the  fellow  just  for  carrying  on." 

"She    give    her    piece    to    counsel    pretty 

clear." 
"Ah,  that  she  did,  and  when  she  stop  she 

smiled." 
"She's  had  a-many  men,  that  pretty  dear; 
She's  drove  a-many  pretty  fellows  wild." 
"More  silly  idiots  they  to  be  beguiled." 


208        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

"Well,  I  don't  know."    "Well,  I  do.    See 

her  eyes  ? 
Mystery,  eh  ?    A  woman's  mystery's  lies." 

"Perhaps."     "No  p'raps  about  it,  that's  the 

truth. 
I  know  these  women ;  they're  a  rotten  lot." 
"You    didn't    use    to    think    so    in    your 

youth." 
"No;  but  I'm  wiser  now,  and  not  so  hot. 
Married  or  buried,  /  say,  wives  or  shot,, 
These   unmanned,   unattached   Maries   and 

Susans 
Make  life  no  better  than  a  proper  nuisance." 

"Well,  I  don't  know."    "Well,  if  you  don't 

you  will." 
"I  look  on  women  as  as  good  as  men." 
"Now,  that's  the  kind  of  talk  that  makes 

me  ill. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       209 

When  have  they  been  as  good?    I  ask  you 

when?" 
"Always  they  have."    "They  haven't.    Now 

and  then 
P'raps  one  or  two  was  neither  hen  nor  fury." 
"One  for  your  mother,  that.    Here  comes 

the  jury." 

Guilty.   Thumbs  down.   No  hope.   The  judge 

passed  sentence : 
"A  frantic  passionate  youth,  unfit  for  life, 
A  fitting  time  afforded  for  repentance, 
Then  certain  justice  with  a  pitiless  knife. 
For    her,  his   wretched    victim's    widowed 

wife, 
Pity.    For  her  who  bore  him,  pity.    (Cheers.) 
The  jury  were  exempt  for  seven  years." 

All  bowed ;  the  Judge  passed  to  the  robing- 
room. 


210        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

Dismissed  his  clerks,  disrobed,  and  knelt  and 

prayed 
As  was  his  custom  after  passing  doom, 
Doom  upon  life,  upon  the  thing  not  made. 
"O   God,   who  made  us  out  of   dust,  and 

laid 
Thee  in  us  bright,  to  lead  us  to  the  truth, 
O  God,  have  pity  upon  this  poor  youth. 

Show  him  Thy  grace,  O  God,  before  he  die; 
Shine  in  his  heart ;  have  mercy  upon  me 
Who  deal  the  laws  men  make  to  travel  by 
Under  the  sun  upon  the  path  to  Thee ; 
O  God,  Thou  knowest  I'm  as  blind  as  he, 
As  blind,  as  frantic,  not  so  single,  worse, 
Only  Thy  pity  spared  me  from  the  curse. 

Thy  pity,  and  Thy  mercy,  God,  did  save, 
Thy  bounteous  gifts,  not  any  grace  of  mine, 
From  all  the  pitfalls  leading  to  the  grave, 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       211 

From  all  the  death-feasts  with  the  husks  and 

swine. 
God,  who  hast  given  me  all  things,  now  make 

shine 
Bright  in  this  sinner's  heart  that  he  may  see. 
God, .  take  this  poor  boy's   spirit  back  to 

Thee." 

Then  trembling  with  his  hands,  for  he  was 
old, 

He  went  to  meet  his  college  friend,  the  Dean, 

The  loiterers  watched  him  as  his  carriage 
rolled. 

"  There  goes  the  Judge,"  said  one,  and  one 
was  keen : 

"Hanging  that  wretched  boy,  that's  where 
he's  been." 

A  policeman  spat,  two  lawyers  talked  statis- 
tics, 

'"Crime  passionel'  in  Agricultural  Districts." 


212        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

"They'd  oughtn't  hang  a  boy:"  but  one 
said  "  Stuff. 

This  sentimental  talk  is  rotten,  rotten. 

The  law's  the  law  and  not  half  strict  enough, 

Forgers  and  murderers  are  misbegotten, 

Let  them  be  hanged  and  let  them  be  for- 
gotten. 

A  rotten  fool  should  have  a  rotten  end ; 

Mend  them,  you  say?  The  rotten  never 
mend." 

And  one  "Not  mend?    The  rotten  not,  per- 
haps. 
The  rotting  would ;  so  would  the  just  infected. 
A  week  in  quod  has  ruined  lots  of  chaps 
Who'd    all    got    good    in    them    till    prison 

wrecked  it." 
And  one,  "Society  must  be  protected." 
"He's  just  a  kid.     She  trapped  him."     "No, 
she  didden." 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       213 

"He'll  be  reprieved."    "He  mid  be  and  he 
midden." 

So  the  talk  went ;  and  Anna  took  the  train, 
Too  sad  for  tears,  and  pale ;  a  lady  spoke 
Asking  if  she  were  ill  or  suffering  pain  ? 
"Neither,"  she  said;   but  sorrow  made  her 

choke, 
"I'm  only  sick  because  my  heart  is  broke. 
My  friend,  a  man,  my  oldest  friend  here, 

died. 
I  had  to  see  the  man  who  killed  him,  tried. 

He's  to  be  hanged.    Only  a  boy.    My  friend. 
I  thought  him  just  a  boy ;  I  didn't  know. 
And  Ern  was  killed,  and  now  the  boy's  to 

end, 
And  all  because  he  thought  he  loved  me  so." 
"My  dear,"  the  lady  said;  and  Anna,  "Oh, 
It's  very  hard  to  bear  the  ills  men  make, 


214         THE    WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

He  thought  he  loved,  and  it  was  all  mistake." 

"My  dear/'  the  lady  said;  "you  poor,  poor 

woman, 
Have  you  no  friends  to  go  to  ?  "  "  I'm  alone. 
I've  parents  living,  but  they're  both  inhuman, 
And  none  can  cure  what  pierces  to  the  bone. 
I'll  have  to  leave  and  go  where  I'm  not  known. 
Begin  my  life  again."  Her  friend  said  "  Yes. 
Certainly  that.     But  leave  me  your  address : 

For  I  might  hear  of  something ;  I'll  enquire, 
Perhaps  the  boy  might  be  reprieved  or  par- 
doned. 
Couldn't  we  ask  the  rector  or  the  squire 
To  write  and  ask  the  Judge?    He  can't  be 

hardened. 
What  do  you  do  ?    Is  it  housework  ?    Have 

you  gardened  ? 
Your  hands  are  very  white  and  soft  to  touch." 
"  Lately  I've  not  had  heart  for  doing  much." 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET        215 

So  the  talk  passes  as  the  train  descends 

Into  the  vale,  and  halts,  and  starts  to  climb 

To  where  the  apple-bearing  country  ends 

And  pleasant-pastured  hills  rise  sweet  with 

thyme, 

Where  clinking  sheepbells  make  a  broken  chime 

And  sun  warm  gorses  rich  the  air  with  scent  . 

And  kestrels  poise  for  mice,  there  Anna  went. 

» 

There,  in  the  April,  in  the  garden-close, 

One  heard  her  in  the  morning  singing  sweet, 

Calling  the  birds  from  the  unbudded  rose,' 

Offering  her  lips  with  grains  for  them  to  eat. 

The  redbreasts  come  with  little  wiry  feet, 

Sparrows  and  tits  and  all  wild  feathery  things, 

Brushing  her  lifted  face  with  quivering  wings. 

Jimmy  was  taken  down  into  a  cell, 
He  did  not  need  a  hand,  he  made  no  fuss. 
The  men  were  kind:    "For  what  the  kid 
done  .  .  .  well  — 


216        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STBEET 

The  same  might  come  to  any  one  of  us." 
They  brought  him  bits  of  cake  at  tea  time : 

thus 
The  love  that  fashioned  all  in  human  ken, 
Works  in  the  marvellous  hearts  of  simple  men. 

And  in  the  nights  (they  watched  him  night 

and  day) 
They  told  him  bits  of  stories  through  the 

grating, 
Of  how  the  game  went  at  the  football  play, 
And  how  the  rooks  outside  had  started  mating. 
And  all  the  time  they  knew  the  rope  was 

waiting, 
And  every  evening  friend  would  say  to  friend, 
"I  hope  we've  not  to  drag  him  at  the  end." 

And  poor  old  mother  came  to  see  her  son, 
"The  Lord  has  gave,"  she  said,  "The  Lord 
has  took ; 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       217 

I  loved  you  very  dear,  my  darling  one, 
And  now  there's  none  but  God  where  we  can 

look. 
We've  got   God's  promise  written   in   His 

Book, 
He  will  not  fail ;  but  oh,  it  do  seem  hard." 
She  hired  a  room  outside  the  prison  yard. 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  money  for  the  room  ? 
And  how  are  you  living,  mother ;  how'U  you 

live?" 
"It's  what  I'd  saved  to  put  me  in  the  tomb, 
I'll  want  no  tomb  but  what  the  parish  give." 
"Mother,  I  lied  to  you  that  time,  O  forgive, 
I  brought  home  half  my  wages,  half  I  spent, 
And  you  went  short  that  week  to  pay  the 

rent. 

I  went  to  see'r,  I  spent  my  money  on  her, 
And  you  who  bore  me  paid  the  cost  in  pain. 


218        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

You  went  without  to  buy  the  clothes  upon 

her: 
A  hat,  a  locket,  and  a  silver  chain. 
0  mother  dear,  if  all  might  be  again, 
Only  from  last  October,  you  and  me ; 

0  mother  dear,  how  different  it  would  be. 

We  were  so  happy  in  the  room  together, 
Singing  at  'Binger-Bopper,'  weren't  us,  just? 
And  going  a-hopping  in  the  summer  weather, 
And  all  the  hedges  covered  white  with  dust, 
And  blackberries,  and  that,  and  traveller's 
trust. 

1  thought  her  wronged,  and  true,  and  sweet, 

and  wise, 
The  devil  takes  sweet  shapes  when  he  tells 


Mother,  my  dear,  will  you  forgive  your  son  ?" 
"God  knows  I  do,  Jim,  I  forgive  you,  dear; 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       219 

You  didn't  know,  and  couldn't,  what  you  done. 
God  pity  all  poor  people  suffering  here, 
And  may  His  mercy  shine  upon  us  clear, 
And  may  we  have  His  Holy  Word  for  mark, 
To  lead  us  to  His  Kingdom  through  the 
dark." 

"Amen.     Amen,"   said  Jimmy;    then   they 

kissed. 
The  warders  watched,  the  little  larks  were 

singing, 
A  plough  team  jangled,  turning  at  the  rist ; 
Beyond,  the  mild  cathedral  bells  were  ringing, 
The    elm-tree    rooks    were    cawing    at    the 

springing : 
O  beauty  of  the  time  when  winter's  done, 
And  ail  the  fields  are  laughing  at  the  sun ! 

"I  s'pose  they've  brought  the  line  beyond  the 
Knapp?" 


220        THE   WIDOW  IN   THE  BYE  STREET 

"Ah,  and  beyond  the  Barcle,  so  they  say." 
"Hearing  the  rooks  begin  reminds  a  chap. 
Look  queer,  the  street  will,  with  the  lock 

away; 
O  God,  Fll  never  see  it."    "Let  us  pray. 
Don't  think  of  that,  but  think,"  the  mother 

said, 
"Of  men  going  on  long  after  we  are  dead. 

Red  helpless  little  things  will  come  to  birth, 
And  hear  the  whistles  going  down  the  line, 
And  grow  up  strong  and  go  about  the  earth, 
And  have  much  happier  times  than  yours  and 

mine; 
And  some  day  one  of  them  will  get  a  sign, 
And  talk  to  folk,  and  put  an  end  to  sin, 
And  then  God's  blessed  kingdom  will  begin. 

God  dropped  a  spark  down  into  everyone, 
And  if  we  find  and  fan  it  to  a  blaze 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       221 

It'll  spring  up  and  glow,  like  —  like  the  sun, 
And  light  the  wandering  out  of  stony  ways. 
God  warms  his  hands  at  man's  heart  when 

he  prays, 
And  light  of  prayer  is  spreading  heart  to  heart ; 
It'll  light  all  where  now  it  lights  a  part. 

And  God  who  gave  His  mercies  takes  His 

mercies, 
And  God  who  gives  beginning  gives  the  end. 
I  dread  my  death ;  but  it's  the  end  of  curses, 
A  rest  for  broken  things  too  broke  to  mend. 
O   Captain   Christ,   our  blessed   Lord   and 

Friend, 
We  are  two  wandered  sinners  in  the  mire, 
Burn  our  dead  hearts  with  love  out  of  Thy 

fire. 

And  when  thy  death  comes,  Master,  let  us 
bear  it 


222        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

As  of  Thy  will,  however  hard  to  go ; 

Thy  Cross  is  infinite  for  us  to  share  it, 

Thy  help  is  infinite  for  us  to  know. 

And  when  the  long  trumpets  of  the  Judgment 

blow 

May  our  poor  souls  be  glad  and  meet  agen, 

And  rest  in  Thee."    "Say,  'Amen/  Jim." 

"Amen." 
*  *  *  *  * 

There  was  a  group  outside  the  prison  gate, 
Waiting  to  hear  them  ring  the  passing  bell, 
Waiting  as  empty  people  always  wait 
For  the  strong  toxic  of  another's  hell. 
And  mother  stood  there,  too,  not  seeing  well, 
Praying  through  tears  to  let  His  will  be  done, 
And  not  to  hide  His  mercy  from  her  son. 

Talk  in  the  little  group  was  passing  quick. 
"It's  nothing  now  to  what  it  was,  to  watch." 
"Poor  wretched  kid,  I  bet  he's  feeling  sick." 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       223 

"Eh?    What  (Tyou  say,  chaps?    Someone 

got  a  match?" 
"They  draw  a  bolt  and  drop  you  down  a 

hatch 
And  break  your  neck,  whereas  they  used  to 

strangle 
In  the  old  times,  when  you  could  see  them 

dangle." 

Someone   said,  "Off  hats,"  when  the  bell 

began. 
Mother   was    whimpering    now   upon    her 

knees. 
A  broken  ringing  like  a  beaten  pan, 
It  sent  the  sparrows  wavering  to  the  trees. 
The  wall-top  grasses  whickered  in  the  breeze, 
The  broken  ringing  clanged,  clattered  and 

clanged, 
As  though  men's  bees  were  swarming,  not 

men  hanged. 


224        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

Now  certain  Justice  with  the  pitiless  knife. 
The  white,  sick  chaplain  snuffing  at  the  nose, 
"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life." 
The  bell  still  clangs,  the  small  procession  goes, 
The  prison  warders  ready  ranged  in  rows. 
"Now,  Gurney,  come,  my  dear;  it's  time," 

they  said. 
And  ninety  seconds  later  he  was  dead. 

Some  of  life's  sad  ones  are  too  strong  to  die, 
Grief  doesn't  kill  them  as  it  kills  the  weak, 
Sorrow  is  not  for  those  who  sit  and  cry 
Lapped  in  the  love  of  turning  t'other  cheek, 
But  for  the  noble  souls  austere  and  bleak 
Who  have  had  the  bitter  dose  and  drained 

the  cup 
And  wait  for  Death  face  fronted,  standing  up. 

As  the  last  man  upon  the  sinking  ship, 
Seeing  the  brine  creep  brightly  on  the  deck, 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       225 

Hearing  aloft  the  slatting  topsails  rip, 
Ripping  to  rags  among  the  topmast's  wreck, 
Yet  hoists  the  new  red  ensign  without  speck, 
That  she,  so  fair,  may  sink  with  colours 

flying, 
So  the  old  widowed  mother  kept  from  dying. 

She  tottered  home,  back  to  the  little  room, 

It  was  all  over  for  her,  but  for  life ; 

She  drew  the  blinds,  and  trembled  in   the 

gloom; 
"I  sat  here  thus  when  I  was  wedded  wife ; 
Sorrow  sometimes,   and  joy;    but  always 

strife. 
Struggle  to  live  except  just  at  the  last, 
O  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  the  mercies  past. 

Harry,  my  man,  when  we  were  courting; 

eh  .  .  . 
The  April  morning  up  the  Cony-gree. 

Q 


226        THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

How  grand  he  looked  upon  our  wedding  day. 
'I  wish  we'd  had  the  bells/  he  said  to  me; 
And  we'd  the  moon  that  evening,  I  and  he, 
And  dew  come  wet,  oh,  I  remember  how, 
And  we  come  home  to  where  I'm  sitting  now. 

And  he  lay  dead  here,  and  his  son  was  born 

here; 
He  never  saw  his  son,  his  little  Jim. 
And  now  I'm  all  alone  here,  left  to  mourn 

here, 
And  there  are  all  his  clothes,  but  never  him. 
He's  down  under  the  prison  in  the  dim, 
With  quicklime  working  on  him  to  the  bone, 
The  flesh  I  made  with  many  and  many  a 

groan. 

Oh,  how  his  little  face  come,  with  bright  hair. 
Dear  little  face.  We  made  this  room  so  snug ; 
He  sit  beside  me  in  his  little  chair, 


THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       227 

I  give  him  real  tea  sometimes  in  his  mug. 
He  liked  the  velvet  in  the  patchwork  rug. 
He  used  to  stroke  it,  did  my  pretty  son, 
He  called  it  Bunny,  little  Jimmy  done. 

And  then  he  ran  so,  he  was  strong  at  running, 
Always  a  strong  one,  like  his  dad  at  that. 
In  summertimes  I  done  my  sewing  sunning, 
And  he'd  be  sprawling,  playing  with  the  cat. 
And  neighbours  brought  their  knitting  out  to 

chat 
Till  five  o'clock ;  he  had  his  tea  at  five  ; 
How  sweet  life  was  when  Jimmy  was  alive." 

*  *  *  *  * 

Darkness  and  midnight,  and  the  midnight 

chimes. 
Another  four-and-twenty  hours  begin. 
Darkness  again,  and  many,  many  times, 
The  alternating  light  and  darkness  spin 
Until  the  face  so  thin  is  still  more  thin, 


228        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

Gazing  each  earthly  evening,  wet  or  fine, 
For  Jimmy  coming  from  work  along  the  line. 

Over  her  head  the  Chester  wires  hum, 
Under  the  bridge  the  rocking  engines  flash. 
"He's  very  late  this  evening,  but  hell  come 
And  bring  his  little  packet  full  of  cash 
(Always  he  does),  and  supper's  cracker  hash, 
That  is  his  favourite  food  excepting  bacon. 
They  say  my  boy  was  hanged ;  but  they're 
mistaken." 

And  sometimes  she  will  walk  the  cindery 

mile, 
Singing,  as  she  and  Jimmy  used  to  do, 
Singing  "The  parson's  dog  lep  over  a  stile," 
Along  the  path  where  water  lilies  grew. 
The  stars  are  placid  on  the  evening's  blue, 
Burning  like  eyes  so  calm,  so  unafraid, 
On  all  that  God  has  given  and  man  has  made. 


THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET       229 

Burning  they  watch,  and  mothlike  owls  come 

out, 
The  redbreast  warbles  shrilly  once  and  stops ; 
The  homing  cowman  gives  his  dog  a  shout, 
The  lamps  are  lighted  in  the  village  shops. 
Silence ;  the  last  bird  passes ;  in  the  copse 
The  hazels  cross  the  moon,  a  nightjar  spins, 
Dew  wets  the  grass,  the  nightingale  begins. 

Singing  her  crazy  song  the  mother  goes, 
Singing  as  though  her  heart  were  full  of 

peace, 
Moths  knock  the  petals  from  the  dropping 

rose, 
Stars  make  the  glimmering  pool  a  golden 

neece, 
The  moon  droops  west,  but  still  she  does  not 

cease, 
The  little  mice  peep  out  to  hear  her  sing, 
Until  the  inn-man's  cockerel  shakes  his  wing. 


230        THE   WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET 

And  in  the  sunny  dawns  of  hot  Julys, 
The  labourers  going  to  meadow  see  her  there. 
Rubbing  the  sleep  out  of  their  heavy  eyes, 
They  lean  upon  the  parapet  to  stare ; 
They  see  her  plaiting  basil  in  her  hair, 
Basil,   the  dark  red  wound-wort,   cops  of 

clover, 
The  blue  self-heal  and  golden  Jacks  of  Dover. 

Dully  they  watch  her,  then  they  turn  to  go 
To  that  high  Shropshire  upland  of  late  hay ; 
Her  singing  lingers  with  them  as  they  mow, 
And  many  times  they  try  it,  now  grave,  now 

gay, 

Till,  with  full  throat,  over  the  hills  away, 
They  lift  it  clear ;  oh,  very  clear  it  towers 
Mixed  with  the  swish  of  many  falling  flowers. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


lHE  following   pages   contain   advertisements   of 
books  on  kindred  subjects. 


By   ALFRED    NOYES 

Poems 

With  an  Introduction  by  Hamilton  W.  Mabie 

Cloth ,  i2moi  $  1.25 

"  Imagination,  the  capacity  to  perceive  vividly  and 
feel  sincerely,  and  the  gift  of  fit  and  beautiful  expres- 
sion in  verse-form — if  these  may  be  taken  as  the 
equipment  of  a  poet,  nearly  all  of  this  volume  is 
poetry.  And  if  to  the  sum  of  these  be  added  the 
indescribable  increment  of  charm  which  comes. occa- 
sionally to  the  work  of  some  poet,  quite  unearned  by 
any  of  these  catalogued  qualities  of  his,  you  have  a 
fair  measure  of  Mr.  Noyes  at  his  best.  .  .  .  Two 
considerations  render  Mr.  Noyes  interesting  above 
most  poets :  the  wonderful  degree  in  which  the  per- 
sonal charm  illumines  what  he  has  already  written, 
and  the  surprises  which  one  feels  may  be  in  store  in 
his  future  work.  His  feelings  have  already  so  much 
variety  and  so  much  apparent  sincerity  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  tell  in  what  direction  his  genius  will  de- 
velop. In  whatever  style  he  writes,  —  the  mystical, 
the  historical-dramatic,  the  impassioned  description 
of  natural  beauty,  the  ballad,  the  love  lyric,  —  he  has 
the  peculiarity  of  seeming  in  each  style  to  have  found 
the  truest  expression  of  himself." — Louisville  Courier- 
Journal.  

PUBLISHED  BY 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

64-66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOBK 


Mr.   ALFRED   NOYES'S   POEMS 

The  Flower  of  Old  Japan 

Contains  also  "  Forest  of  Wild  Thyme,"  of  which  the  Argonaut 
says :  "  It  is  not  only  an  exquisite  piece  of  work,  but  it  is  a  psychologi- 
cal analysis  of  the  child-mind  so  daring  and  yet  so  convincing  as  to 
lift  it  to  the  plane  where  the  masterpieces  of  literature  dwell.  It  can 
be  read  with  delight  by  a  child  of  ten.  It  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  a 
child  of  about  that  age,  but  the  adult  must  be  strangely  constituted 
who  can  remain  indifferent  to  its  haunting  spell  or  who  can  resist  the 
fascination  which  lies  in  its  every  page." 

"  We  are  reminded  both  of  Stevenson  —  to  whom  Mr.  Noyes  pays  a 
glowing  tribute  —  and  Lewis  Carroll;  yet  there  is  no  imitation;  Mr. 
Noyes  has  a  distinct  poetic  style  of  his  own.  ...  In  a  matter-of-fact 
age  such  verse  as  this  is  an  oasis  in  a  desert  land."  —  Providenct 
Journal. 

"  It  has  seemed  to  us  from  the  first  that  Noyes  has  been  one  of  the 
most  hope-inspiring  figures  in  our  latter-day  poetry.  He,  almost  alone, 
of  the  younger  men  seems  to  have  the  true  singing  voice,  the  gift  of 
uttering  in  authentic  lyric  cry  some  fresh,  unspoiled  emotion."  —  Post. 

Mr.  Richard  Le  Gallienne  in  the  North  American  Review  pointed 
out  recently  "  their  spontaneous  power  and  freshness,  their  imaginative 
vision,  their  lyrical  magic."  He  adds  :  "  Mr.  Noyes  is  surprisingly 
various.  I  have  seldom  read  one  book,  particularly  by  so  young  a 
writer,  in  which  so  many  different  things  are  done,  and  all  done  so 
well.  .  .  .  But  that  for  which  one  is  most  grateful  to  Mr.  Noyes  in  his 
strong  and  brilliant  treatment  of  all  his  rich  material,  is  the  gift  by 
which,  in  my  opinion,  he  stands  alone  among  the  younger  poets  of  the 
day,  his  lyrical  gift." 

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PUBLISHED  BY 

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64-66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK 


Daily  Bread 

In  Three  Books,  by  WILFRID  WILSON  GIBSON 

Cloth,  i2tno,  i8g  pp.,  $1.25  by  mail,  $i.jj 

"A  POET  OF  THE   PEOPLE" 
By  Louise  Waterman  Wise 

"  There  is  a  man  in  England  who  with  sufficient  plain- 
ness and  sufficient  profoundness  is  addressing  himself 
to  life,  and  daring  to  chant  his  own  times  and  social  cir- 
cumstances, who  ought  to  become  known  to  America. 
He  is  bringing  a  message  which  might  well  rouse  his  day 
and  generation  to  an  understanding  of  and  a  sympathy 
with  life's  disinherited  —  the  overworked  masses. 

"  A  Millet  in  word-painting,  who  writes  with  a  ter- 
rible simplicity,  is  Wilfrid  Wilson  Gibson,  born  in  Hex- 
ham, England,  in  1878,  of  whom  Canon  Cheyne  wrote  : 
*  A  new  poet  of  the  people  has  risen  up  among  us  — 
the  story  of  a  soul  is  written  as  plainly  in  "  Daily  Bread  " 
as  in  "  The  Divine  Comedy  "  and  in  "  Paradise  Lost."  ' 

"  Here  I  will  deal  only  with  Mr.  Gibson's  latest 
work,  entitled  *  Daily  Bread,'  a  series  of  dramatic 
poems  in  irregular  rhythm  which  record  the  sorrows 
and  tragedies  and  terrors  that  are  everyday  occur- 
rences in  the  lives  of  the  breadwinners  of  England, 
alike  in  all  particulars  to  the  experiences  of  our  own 
working  people  in  America.  Mr.  Gibson  is  a  genuine 
singer  of  his  own  day,  and  turns  into  appealing  har- 
mony the  world's  harshly  jarring  notes  of  poverty  and 
pain."  —  Abridged  from  an  article  in  "  The  Outlook" 


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A  LIST  OF  PLAYS 


Mr.  Leonid  Andreyev's  Anathema .     .    .    .     .     .     .#1.25 

Mr.  Winston  Churchill's  Title  Mart    ......       7  c 

Mr.  Clyde  Fitch's  The  Climbers      ...,..„      .75 

Girl  with  the  Green  Eyes 1.25 

Her  Own  Way 75 

Stubbornness  of  Geraldine 7  c 

The  Truth 75 

Mr.  Thomas  Hardy's  The  Dynasts.     3  parts    Each       1.50 

Mr.  Laurence  Housman's  Bethlehem 1.25 

Mr.  Henry  Arthur  Jones's  Mrs.  Dane's  Defence  .    .      .7  s 

The  Infidel .  75 

The  Tempter 75 

Whitewashing  of  Julia 75 

Rebellious  Susan 75 

Saints  and  Sinners 75 

The  Crusaders .75 

Michael  and  His  Lost  Angel .75 

Mr.  Jack  London's  Scorn  of  Women 1.25 

Theft 1.25 

Mackaye's  Jeanne  D'Arc 1.25 

Sappho  and  Phaon 1.25 

Fenris  the  Wolf 1.25 

Canterbury  Pilgrims 1.25 

The  Scarecrow 1.25 

A  Garland  to  Sylvia 1.25 

Mr.  William  Vaughn  Moody's  The  Great  Divide     .    1.25 

The  Faith  Healer 1.25 

Phillips's  Ulysses 1.25 

The  Sin  of  David 1.25 

Nero „ 1.25 

Pietro  of  Siena 1 .00 

Phillips  &  Carr.     Faust .    .    .     .    1.25 

Mr.  Edward  Sheldon's  The  Nigger     ......    1.25 

Upson's  The  City 1.25 

Wiley's  Coming  of  Philibert 1.25 

Alcestis ,    .    .    .       .75 

Yeats's  Poems  and  Plays,  Vol.  II 1.75 

Hour  Glass  (and  others) 1.25 

In  the  Seven  Woods 1.00 

Yeats  &  Lady  Gregory's  Unicorn  from  the  Stars    .     .     1.50 

Zangwill's  The  Melting  Pot 1.25 

The  War  God .     1.25 


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